


Stranger Places

by Nasserwraith



Series: The White Hart - Dragon Age Series [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bottom Fenris (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, Elf Culture & Customs, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Fade Dreams, Fenris (Dragon Age) Smut, Forbidden Love, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Other, Porn With Plot, Post-Dragon Age II, Quote: May the Dread Wolf Take You (Dragon Age), References to Drugs, Sexy Solas (Dragon Age), Slavery, Solas (Dragon Age) Smut, Solas is Fen'Harel (Dragon Age), Visions, Weird Elven Sexual Mores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-07-29 17:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20086114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasserwraith/pseuds/Nasserwraith
Summary: A story of Hawke and Fenris following the events of Dragon Age II. After encountering an unusual group of slavers near the Wounded Coast, Hawke and Fenris are drawn into the terrifying underworld of Serenic; a powerfully euphoric black-market drug harvested from the bodies of particular elven slaves that has been outlawed in nearly every province but one. But that hasn’t stopped its production nor the elite demand for it. Now, Hawke and Fenris will have to not only come to terms with the terrors that face them but the terrors that may yet lie between them. Continues the relationship established in “Picked-Up Pieces.” (Fenris/M! Mage Hawke. Rated M for a reason)Fair warning: Highly Experimental Fic. It's going to get a little weird. - Also, there will be discussions of rape. Not a graphic depiction of it.





	1. Red Sky Warning

**Chapter 1: Red Sky Morning**

Something had awakened him but Hawke wasn’t immediately sure what it was.

The room was dark; gloomy in the clandestine hours before dawn. He was warm. Buried beneath several layers of blankets in the top room of an inn somewhere near the Wounded Coast. Rain pelted the single window. The fire had smoldered down to a dramatic reddish glow. He listened carefully.

Nothing.

A brief movement, little more than a flutter along his back, then reminded him that he was not alone. Hawke smiled despite himself but the nearly imperceptible sound of slow breaths told him that Fenris was not only still in bed with him but also still very much asleep. 

Moments more passed and yet nothing further alarmed him. Hawke fidgeted. Maybe it was a dream that had unsettled him, since that had been happening more and more lately. Maybe the lightening and distant thunderous crackles in the sky had shaken him. Or, maybe it was because, though his lover was less than a hair’s breadth away from him at this very moment, they’d hardly touched since the battle of the Gallows. Granted, this was largely due to the fact that they had been continuously on the run by account of having resisted the Templars and not because they hadn’t wanted to. Even upon arriving at this particularly quaint little inn, which was called The Pictish Pig and adorned with a wide variety of boar-themed paraphernalia, they’d both eaten a full dinner and had almost immediately fallen asleep.

Hawke sighed. He wanted to wake Fenris but at the same time he didn’t. They hadn’t had much chance for a good rest in the weeks since their flight from Kirkwall and Fenris would only barely doze in circumstances where he knew he was being pursued. It was just the two of them now, though. Their party had gone in multiple directions, mainly by necessity and others by circumstance, but Fenris had remained vigilantly at Hawke’s side. Much to his joy, of course. But, here they were, having finally thrown off the last of the Templar hunters, in a seaside tavern in the middle-of-nowhere Thedas with no particular plans or leads as to where they might go next. It was a terribly somber, lonely, feeling and he missed his lover’s comforting affections.

As carefully and undisruptively as he could manage on the flat-board bed, Hawke rolled over and looked down at Fenris. His face was actually quite serene in sleep, slightly turned away, locks of his white hair tickling Hawke’s arm where the elf almost lay against it. He wore only his small-clothes to bed (though his sword was within easy reach near the headboard) and, as such, Hawke had a full and unobstructed view of his marked chest, softly rising and falling in dreamless slumber. He really shouldn’t…

Fenris awoke to the feeling of Hawke’s hand lightly tracing over his hip and the mage’s nose drifting up along his neck towards his ear. He shifted restlessly; loosing a deep, vaguely annoyed, rumble from somewhere in his core in response to the fingers that surreptitiously crept across his abdomen. Hawke chuckled at the sound. Fenris had actually straight-up growled at him, yet it was one of the sweetest sounds he’d heard in quite some time. When he didn’t immediately turn away, the mage began mouthing delicate kisses down the ridge of Fenris’ ear as he slipped a hand beneath the waistband of the elf’s smalls and began to caress him; smiling happily as he felt Fenris begin to harden in his palm. 

“Hawke? What are you doing?” Fenris whispered, almost inaudibly.

“I miss you.” Hawke whispered back, sliding his tongue down the length of the other’s ear. “And, I want you.”

“Hm.”

“Can I, Fen? Can I have you?”

The elf briefly arched into the touch at his manhood before settling back into a sedate, still-half-asleep, posture that allowed his thighs to part and his knees to fall open. When he then raised his arms in a medial gesture inviting Hawke to embrace him, the mage made quick work of what scant clothing either of them wore and pulled himself up to lie fully on top of his lover. With a little sly magic he hoped the other would not object to (or notice, really), he wet his fingers and then slickened Fenris’ passage quickly before sliding into him. Unfortunately, the rushed preparation meant that Fenris was almost unbearably tight, and the elf gruffly snarled as he was taken; his lover trying to soothe him with apologetic kisses. 

Hawke wanted to do this tenderly, to make love to Fenris with a gentle yearning touch; taking him slowly and deeply until either of them could take no more. But Fenris’ wordless submission and unusually passive demeanor both disquieted and aroused Hawke, who soon found himself driving into his slender lover with short, tight, strokes.

Given how hard he was holding him and the fact that he was currently laying completely on top of him, Hawke also had to imagine that Fenris would find this particular position suffocating. But he didn’t seem to be struggling despite the mage’s full weight on him and his body was relaxed, his thighs falling loosely around Hawke’s hips. When his lover had begun to move inside of him, Fenris had also simply pressed his face into Hawke’s upper arm and was making no noise other than a few short, huffed, breaths whenever his lover thrust. It was exciting and concerning all the same.

“Fen…. Fenris?” Hawke bit back a moan as he continued his brusque rhythm. “Tell me what…you need.”

He swore Fenris almost smiled, but he couldn’t see his face completely and it might have been a grimace, for all he knew.

“You’re so quiet. I…I want to hear you.” Hawke murmured into the elf’s neck.

“No.” Fenris finally responded; terse and clipped. “Someone will hear.”

“Fen…” Hawke chuckled lightly, still whispering into his ear. “There’s a thunderstorm outside and it’s the middle of the night. No one is going to hear us. And even if they did, who cares? It’s a tavern. Please…tell me how to please you…”

Fenris grumbled inelegantly, and tensed slightly against Hawke’s body as he thrust into him more with pressure and the momentum of his weight than the fuller strokes he had used during their previous couplings.

“Fine.” Fenris sighed beneath him. “When…. you’re finished…. I want…your mouth on me. Like…like you did…before.” 

It was something and Hawke allowed himself to settle into an easier pace; thoroughly enjoying the sensations of sliding into his lover’s tight depths over and over again while Fenris held on to him and panted softly in his arms. From this position, he could also freely access the elf’s ears, neck, and shoulder, all of which he happily nibbled and nipped to his heart’s content. Too soon though, he was on the brink and cursed himself for not being more attentive to either of their needs before now. He’d been joined with Fenris for less than fifteen minutes, he surmised, and was already aching and poised to spill inside of him. 

Fenris, interestingly enough, seemed to clue in on Hawke’s predicament as the mage’s strokes became slightly more erratic and he muffled a series of resentful groans into his neck. To Hawke’s surprise, Fenris then apparently decided to act on the issue but in a way that he would never have expected from the normally bad-tempered elf, whose intimate responses up until this point had been nothing but reserved and modest.

He moaned. 

No, not in a delicate way or even in the usual sense where he was simply responding to the pleasure of their sexual encounters, but loudly and with seductive abandon. Fenris pressed his mouth to Hawke’s ear and began to sigh and plaint, in the most intensely passionate manner Hawke had ever heard from him. Soon, sensual words joined in with the sounds and Fenris began to beg for his lover’s release, asking Hawke to take him, fill him, and mark him. It was all so unexpected and intense that Hawke hardly had the wherewithal to warn his lover before he grabbed onto his narrow hips and suddenly lit into him with a flurry of fast, hard, thrusts that left Fenris breathless and Hawke, seconds later, arching over him with a cry of release. 

Thankfully, Fenris seemed pleased with the outcome and welcomed Hawke’s slumped body back into his arms as the mage shuddered through his climax. As he was finally spent, Hawke then leaned up to claim a kiss from the elf that he did not hesitate in giving.

“That was mean.”

“So is waking me up in the middle of the night.”

“I…I just needed you. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm. Speaking of which…you’re not done yet.”

Hawke smiled at Fenris’ restless squirming and gently pulled out of him before snaking down his body to nestle between his thighs. The moan that followed his mouth swallowing the hard length presented to him was far more genuine and Hawke set about his task quite enthusiastically. He loved how excited Fenris got when he suckled him like this and how fervently he would respond to each lick and swallow. In the back of his mind, Hawke already knew that he was the only person who had ever done this for Fenris and part of what drove the elf into such an impassioned state as a result was his unfamiliarity with so much freely and openly given pleasure. The present was no exception and as the storm continued to rage outside of their cozy little world, Fenris dug his fingers into Hawke’s hair and finally gave true voice to his desires.

“Yes, just like that. Oh…. Hawke, please…. make…make me come.”

When Fenris soon began to buck his hips into his mouth, Hawke knew his lover was close. His breathing began to stutter and he had begun to arch upwards so that he was almost sitting upright if not for the body that held him to the mattress. Hawke could feel that Fenris wanted to thrust but couldn’t get the leverage to make any sort of actual movement and the mage smirked at the thought of how he might use this reflex later on to entice the elf into other explorations. But for now, he had a promise to keep and a desperate lover to satisfy.

It didn’t take long. With a few hard pulls and a teasing brush to the still-slick entrance, Hawke pinned his lover to the bed as he came, his lacework markings shimmering brightly as he finally lost control. Fenris’ relieved groans then punctuated the powerful waves of ecstasy that wracked his slim body as he spilled himself into the mage’s mouth. With a discourteous snort that Fenris blessedly didn’t hear, Hawke immediately noticed that swallowing his lover was rather similar to drinking one of Anders’ lyrium potions. So similar, in fact, that he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to use lyrium again without immediately thinking of Fenris in the throes of orgasm while he did so. Briefly, he wondered if the two might even have some of the same effects. Best not to mention that to Fenris, however.

As they calmed, Hawke slowly climbed back up to rest at Fenris’ side; where the elf now lay with both of his arms thrown over his face, as he had done in an attempt to quiet his cries as he came. When Hawke delicately peeled one and then the other off of his head, Fenris looked up at his grinning companion with some dismay.

“May I sleep now?” He inquired sarcastically.

Hawke merely kissed him and nodded, settling back down into a comfortable nuzzle as they both drifted off into the rain-beaten quiet.

********

“That’s what I’m telling you!” The obnoxious voice erupted from the far table of the tavern’s lowest level once again, causing several of the Pictish Pig’s guests to glance over with irritation. “It’s not that simple and if we’re not careful, we’re only going to be able to keep the one. And you can’t get any profit out of one.”

Hawke grumbled over his breakfast as Fenris sipped on his third cup of hot tea for the morning. All he wanted was something light to tide him over until lunch and here he was, staring down a six-inch pork loin with eggs, beans, and half a pint of gravy while two men in garish red and gold tunics loudly argued about something having to do with a buy-sell-resell scheme. At least, that’s what it sounded like. He wasn’t really awake enough yet to tell and had spent the last half hour trying to ignore them.

He picked at the meat with the tines of his wooden fork. Hawke had expected this particular tavern, with its name and eclectic décor, to cater to its chosen theme well enough but he hadn’t expected “wild boar” to be the main ingredient in everything from the daily specials to the desserts to the ale. Hell, Fenris’ tea was probably something more along the lines of leaves boiled in soup stock for all he could tell. Yuck. Pig tea.

He dropped his fork.

“No, no, no.” One of the men at the far table hissed as he gestured for the other to keep his voice down; though both were failing remarkably in doing so. “We have to get one of the ships bound for the Tevinter trade ports. If we can get on one of the slave ships before they make berth, we’ll have our pick of the new slaves before anyone else has had a chance at them. It’s not like they’ll even notice if one or two are missing. Elves are never counted all that well and they’ll just mark it in the manifesto as a sea-death. Happens all the time.”

Hawke froze, a bit of bread, half-chewed, went down his throat painfully as he quickly cleared his airway and glanced up across the table at Fenris. His companion had certainly heard exactly what he had just heard and was lowering his cup to the table with a frightfully heavy clank.

“What do we do with the first one, then?” The conversation at the other table continued unabated.

“Uh, I guess we’ll just have to leave him chained in camp. Not like he’s going to go anywhere.”

“Is that safe? What if someone sees him?”

“No one’s going to see him. We’ll set up in one of the sea caves or something. It’ll be fine. Hit the ship at night, get a couple of males, and we’ll be set.”

“Wait, why do they have to be males?”

“Because this whole thing won’t work otherwise, that’s why.”

“Oh.”

“Didn’t you remember anything I told you?”

Hawke couldn’t see Fenris’ eyes but he could see where they were boring a hole in his tea as the cup sat before him, slowly cracking under the pressure of the gauntlet wrapped around its clay base. His shoulders and jaw had tightened into a rigid line and the chair beneath him creaked ominously as his legs shifted into a crouch. Though he’d hardly moved, Fenris was the veritable embodiment of a caldera on the precipice of an imminent explosion; roiling up to a boil and just seconds away from detonation into what was likely to be a very violent, and very bloody, salvo. So much for a nice, calm, peaceful breakfast on the coast.

Abandoning his pork chunk in favor of reaching for his staff, Hawke didn’t even try to dissuade Fenris from the inevitable. His hate and anger might have blown off the worst of themselves in the days and months following Danarius’ death, but there were still some things that Fenris could not let go of. Enslavement, actual or implied, was definitely one of them. If nothing else at least, Hawke was now pretty sure he knew what they were going to be doing today.


	2. Strangers in a Strange Land

**Chapter 2: Strangers in a Strange Land**

The two slavers in the tavern led to three more in an upper room, which led to an interrogation that revealed the location of a camp just two miles up the coast near an abandoned sea-dock called the Hag Slip. Hawke had actually heard of the Hag Slip before but didn’t recall whether or not Fenris had been present the night Isabela drunkenly related the tale of it and Fosse Grim. Apparently, years ago, what was now little more than a line of ruined underwater pylons had once been a bustling shipyard run by a terrifying old pirate called Fosse. Fosse, as the story went anyway, was a particularly notorious slave-trading buccaneer who used the secret wharf, which he claimed to have named after an especially awful ex-wife, as a safe hideaway for ships carrying recently stolen (read: kidnapped) “cargo.” What he was then most well-known for was his favorite pastime, which involved walking up and down the gangway, inspecting the newest captives all the while playing strange, discordant, songs on his tarry black violin. In Isabela’s version of the tale, some of the recently captured slaves would become so terrified by the songs and by Fosse’s nigh zombie-like appearance that they would immediately drown themselves by leaping off the end of the pier in their chains as he passed. And, in this way, Fosse would weed out those he deemed “useless” or “too fragile” for servitude. It was a horrible story all around, really. Even the ending wasn’t all that great.

The whole mess came to a crashing halt, again so it went, when Fosse became enamored by and then fell in love with one of the slaves offloaded at the Hag Slip by a rival freebooter. Rumor had it that this particular slave was exotic or unusual in some sense; either from some far-off land or in terms of some characteristic in their appearance but the legend was never especially clear on the particulars of this detail. In any case, when Fosse tried to claim said slave for his own by hiding her in a nearby cave, she apparently drowned him in the tide the very next night when he came to lay with her. In some versions of the story Hawke had heard, the slave in question was actually an elf-witch who had purposely appeared as a captive in order to enchant the grisly old pirate with the intent of murdering him as soon as she had him alone and doing away with his raiding once and for all. In other variations, the slave was a young alienage refugee who would eventually go on to lead a great revolt; though when and where changed as often as the re-tellings did. Either way, Hag Slip was almost immediately abandoned as a result and the story lived on among sailors and local fishermen who would swear over their pints of ale that the haunting songs of Fosse Grim’s violin could still be heard lilting out of the sea-caves at night and that if one wasn’t careful, his ghost would rush out to drown any hapless curiosity-seeker if they remained on the shores at high tide. Not bad, Hawke remembered thinking, for a sea shanty.

Fenris paused on the ridge of a rocky outcropping, the salt-air heavy on his tongue as he turned his face into the wind to taste it. His tense posture and wary gaze told Hawke that they had likely arrived at the suspected slave-camp, and that Fenris was keen on whatever it was that he saw on the far side of the moraine. Having felled five men already, Hawke wasn’t sure how many more they were to expect at this site, so he was thankful that his companion had agreed to a stealthier approach to the problem than the earlier pub fight had been. It was all well and good for Fenris to go charging into battle when they’d had a company to support them but now, with only the two, they had to be more careful.

“What do you see?” Hawke whispered up from behind a lichen-encrusted boulder.

“It’s down below.” Fenris responded coolly. “Three tents. A central fire recently fueled. Two men around it and a third near a pack-horse.”

“Any sign of the slave they mentioned?”

“None from here. Likely being kept in one of the tents, I’d imagine.”

“Alright. So, what’s the plan?”

“The man with the horse is clearly armed but the other two look to be simple tradesmen. I’ll cross the ridge and engage the fighter from the other side. You’ll have to take the two at the fire. I recall that you have a few things at your disposal which might be considered useful for crowd control.”

Hawke chuckled. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

In a blink, Fenris vanished into the hilly tussocks surrounding the small inlet; drawing his sword with barely a sound, his nearly-bare feet padding silently into the tall grass. Hawke sighed. Fenris was obviously of a mind to have it out with each and every one of these men before it was even noon.

The fight was short and brutal. The swordsman in the midst of checking the group’s packs didn’t even have time to draw his weapon before Fenris was on him, sinking his blade into the man’s shoulder and fracturing both his collar bone and his clavicle in a single strike. His sword-arm now useless, the man could do little more than stagger backwards while shouting the alarm as Fenris closed on him with a snarl. Less than a few seconds later, the unknown human went down in a gout of blood, gurgling out his last as his elven aggressor silenced him with a well-aimed lunge to the throat.

Hawke made equally short work of the unaware tradesmen. Using the already well-stoked fire as the basis for his will-working, he conjured two burning and demonic-looking arms from the flames themselves and set them upon the two men in an instant. As they screamed in terror and pain from the horrific, bubbling, wounds inflicted by the spell, it ate away their flesh and then wrapped around their scorched bones; dragging them both into the center of the roaring ashes to immediately cremate along with the logs already piled high. It was one of the more vicious magics Hawke was privy to and, for that reason, he wasn’t often inclined to use it even when situations had turned against them. Under normal circumstances, Hawke would likely have found the sickening dispatch of the two men cruel but their interrogation of the other three from earlier had done quite enough to extinguish his sympathies where these slave-traders were concerned.

“We stole one, just the one!” The blonde man had said. “Was just there, you know? Wandering around like he ain’t had a care in the world! We gonna put him to some good use, some good profit, you know?”

Fenris has nearly slit the man’s throat right then and there.

“Yeah!” Another of them had interjected. “Jes’ a dumb lil’ rabbit. But we na’ gon’ hurt ‘em or nothing. Was gonna get us a couple more, see? Mate ‘em together. You know how them elves breed, don’cha? Like bunnies!”

This man had clearly thought he was very funny. Fenris, however, had not found him funny. At all. He lost his tongue before he lost his life.

“That was your plan?” Hawke had engaged with the third; a scrawny underfed man with a noticeable overbite and several missing fingers. “Slave breeding?”

“It was their scheme!” He shrieked, pointing at what was, by then, the corpses of the other two. “Said they had a lead on getting some elf-slaves from the trade ships. Good quality ones. Rare colors and real healthy. Not like those alienage ones, all broken and sick all the time. Figured we could make a decent bit of coin for it. But we just got the one by chance. Found it on the road.”

“Found…it?” Fenris seethed in return.

“No weapons, no traveling friends, no nothing. Put up a fight but, like, five on one you know? Gonna be such a pretty one with a little clean-up. Get it tamed good and right.”

Hawke heard the growl that came from Fenris’s direction but raised his hand to briefly stay him.

“And then, how exactly did you think you were all going to pull off this kind of ridiculous operation?”

The weaselly man shrugged. “Keep it small town for a while, I guess. Get some good product, something we could sell as, like, all artisanal, right? Then maybe try some of the Imperium trades in a year or two. Gotta get established first though. No one takes you seriously unless you got a reputation and a good name.”

Hawke honestly felt like throwing up. The language was so inhuman, so casual; as though they were discussing heritage livestock but with even less regard for their well-being or what it meant to keep them. And the unthinking use of the slur ‘rabbit’ to refer to their current captive was the worst he could have picked if not for its commonality than its cruelty. At this point, Fenris had had enough and subsequently sent this last man to the same grave as his compatriots. Hawke didn’t bother stopping him again. They’d already ascertained that three more slavers remained, in a camp up the shore and besides, they would need to vacate the Pictish Pig rather quickly now, before the town guard came to investigate. They had then left immediately.

Hawke looked up as Fenris approached him through the camp, wiping his sword clean with a scrap of red and gold tunic he then tossed into the fire. 

“That’s the last of them. Finally. Now, we should find the captive and maybe see if there is anything here we can use before we’re off.”

“I quite agree. I think I’ve about had it with backwater slave entrepreneurs for the day. Honestly, Fenris, I don’t know what else to say. This is beyond disgusting.”

“You did not flinch from ending them. You have stayed to see it through. I could ask no more of you. But…I appreciate it, Hawke. I do.”

It was a rare, genuine, smile of affection that crossed Fenris’ features as he tentatively reached out to touch the mage’s cheek before turning back to the mess that lay before them. Three tents, good quality and heavily stitched but with little to indicate what they might hold, and an overburdened pack-horse already glaring at them with impatient disdain. They decided to search the camp systematically and as a pair, on the off chance that something else unpleasant still lay somewhere in wait.

The first tent yielded little of interest beyond some possible supplies they might acquire, the second much the same: bedrolls, traveling packs, a break-down desk, and food. In the third and final tent, however, they finally found the captive they had been looking for.

Slender, pointed, ears, an angular face, and a slim build immediately belied an elf standing in profile, which didn’t surprise Hawke in the least. What did surprise him though was his long, auburn, hair; left loose to his waist. Slaves were not usually permitted to keep their hair at such a length, since it would be difficult to care for and might interfere with their work. But it was extraordinarily lovely, Hawke thought; a delicate mix of vibrant umber browns and bright golden locks that flowed over his shoulders to the small of his back. Where the ends met in light curls, Hawke curiously noted that the last two inches or so were completely white, not unlike the snowy character of Fenris’ hair. The bleed of color upwards from there then made Hawke wonder if this slave had not also undergone some similar kind of ritual alteration as Fenris had, though he did not perceive any other tattoos or brands on his face, neck, or hands. Not of lyrium, blood, ink, or anything else.

With their somewhat abrupt arrival through the front flap of the tent, the slave had also turned suddenly to look at them with a mixture of shock and alarm. Isabela had been right when she noted that elves had pretty eyes. Hawke quite agreed, though he had not said so out loud at the time. This elf was again similar to Fenris in that regard as well; with wide, almond-shaped eyes that shimmered in the dim light, but rather than the arresting green-gold of his lover, the mage was met with incredulous blue in the shades of a wild, shallow, sea.

He was also dressed rather oddly. Elves traditionally wore simple tunics and leggings without boots, even when otherwise outfitted with armor or weather-cowls. This elf wore a kind of long-coat; cut square at the shoulders, buttoned from his neck to his knees, tailored at his mid-section, and then left full and floating to his ankles. Nor did he appear to be wearing the typical leather leggings beneath it, as his small feet were simply bare and dusty from where Hawke could see them under the hem. The coat was not rough-spun, however, but was made of a fine, chocolate-brown, fabric that matched his features beautifully; with a light bit of embroidery around the sleeves and collar in the shape of feathers and ivy. If Hawke wasn’t mistaken, he’d have said that this was the mark of a well-cultured and artistic people with great skill in weaving and stitching. Far too rich for the likes of a conventional elven refugee. On the other hand, where convention was unfortunately very clear, was in the set of bolt and loop chains that bound him: manacles fastened to both wrists, a third around his neck, and a fourth at his waist, all attached with lines of heavy, iron, links. But there was something else strange about him that Hawke couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something in the way that he stood…or in the way that he looked…

“By the Maker…” Fenris breathed in stunned disbelief. “…he is…_ashvani_.”

Hawke paused in his appraisal and stared back at him in confused silence. “He’s a…what? Is that some kind of elven ethnicity or something?”

“Ashvani. Third gender. One who is neither male nor female.”

Silence fell amongst them as Hawke attempted to parse this new dose of information.

“That’s…. that’s a thing!?”

Fenris glared over at his lover. For all of Hawke’s education and extensive travel, there was so much about the world he seemed perpetually, some might even argue blissfully, unaware of.

“Yes.” He replied. “While humans typically recognize two genders; man and woman, though this has not always been the case, elves traditionally have three. Other races have their own combinations. The Qunari have…a few.”

“What?! Why have I never heard of this before?”

“Why would you have, I suppose.” Fenris’ tone made it a statement rather than a question. “They’re rare now; extraordinarily so. And they don’t generally advertise themselves when they do settle somewhere. It’s not that hard, really.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s not that hard?’”

“In a man’s clothes or armor, or what have you, an ashvani would be indistinguishable from any other male elf you might encounter. For all you know, you’ve met dozens of them. In fact, it was only when elves adopted the customs of humankind that our third gender even began to disappear. In Old Elvish, for example, the word for a male elf was _el’ha_, a female elf was called _el’het_, and then…there were the _el’hasin_. Neither male nor female, but of their own kind. The Dalish still recognize them in their reclamation of Late Elvish declensions: _ash_, male; _asha_, female; and _ashvan_. Hence the name.”

This cursory explanation then resulted in an impromptu argument wherein Fenris and Hawke began to debate the specifics of how third, fourth, and among certain species, fifth, genders were understood. As they continued to argue further into distraction, however, the subject of their conversation decided to take the unobserved moment to find a seat on a nearby barrel, pile his chains onto his lap, and wait. Seeing as his two unforeseen liberators didn’t seem inclined to do him immediate harm, it was probably better to let them get the initial bewilderment out of their systems.

“So, they’re like…all mixed together?”

Fenris sighed heavily; not entirely sure how to explain the cultural complexities of elven gender and sexuality to a human who, from what he could tell, had survived every year of his life up until this point with a very specific understanding of how both of those things worked.

“The ashvani are born…female. No, wait, that’s not going to help.” He pondered for a moment longer before continuing. “Ashvani are usually male-bodied in an overall sense but reproduce as female.”

Hawke peered at Fenris; a small wrinkle beginning to form over the bridge of his nose that told the other that his mind was hard at work…and failing at it.

“Look.” Fenris offered, raising his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “What I am trying to tell you is that there was once a time when the ashvani were far more common than they are now but they haven’t been widespread since probably before either of us were born. Most of them that I am even tangentially aware of are Dalish, or they travel with the Dalish even if they aren’t. They are largely confined, thanks to the Tevinter Imperium, to the nomadic clans of the Frostback Mountains or to the last few elven communities that still live in isolation on the northernmost coasts. In ancient times, they were said to be gifts of the Fade, blessed with a deep affinity for magic. On a more practical level, the ashvani could be called upon to bear additional children into families experiencing unforeseen hardship or in the absence of suitable wives. They also acted as healers and oracles; a practice I think the Dalish have long been attempting to resurrect.”

“So…he’s Dalish?” Hawke tried lamely for a hit.

Finally, they both turned and looked at their literal captive audience, seated as he was just a few feet away on an oak cask, watching them intently.

“No.” Fenris replied in a flat tone. “At least, he certainly doesn’t look Dalish. He doesn’t wear the vallaslin.”

“I am not Dalish.”

Seeing as it was the first time the two companions had heard the other elf speak, they remained attentive, in somewhat of a dumb silence.

“My people walk the caravans along the High Reaches near the Nocen Sea, through the Weathered Pass. Between Arlathan and the Donarks. We are called Ava’Darna but I imagine you would probably know us as the Elusivir. Elven gypsies, if I have my terms right.”

“You’re a long way from home.” Hawke retorted.

“I know that.”

Hawke turned back to Fenris. “Ok, so he’s…whatever. Question is, what do we do with him now? Put him on a ship going north?”

“I’d rather you not.” The younger elf interrupted. Fenris immediately appeared to scowl at him for reasons Hawke wasn’t clear on. “I wish to go to Amaranthine. It is a city.”

“Yes, I know that. But why?” Hawke again rejoined.

“That is my business.”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to scowl. For an elf, even an unusual one, he didn’t talk much like one, had virtually no compliance in his demeanor, and seemed to demonstrate little concern for his currently bound predicament.

“But to answer your question from before, it’s really quite simple. I do not have noticeable breasts and I look and sound male. Otherwise, I am female in the ways that I imagine concern you. Or, at least, that concerned my earlier captors.”

“Shouldn’t I be calling you she, then?” Hawke decided to ignore the pointed jab at his sensibilities for the time being.

“Would that make you feel better?”

“Uh…I…don’t think….”

“It doesn’t matter. Either is fine. Please just pick one and try to stay with it.”

“How about your name then? Let’s go with that. What’s your name?”

“Nothing anyone ever uses, I’m afraid.”

“Well, what have they been calling you?”

“Mariner. They’ve been calling me Mariner.”


	3. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris reveals the nature of the problem at hand and Hawke is suitably horrified.
> 
> (Comments, Kudos, and Conversations all welcome below! Writing is best done in collaboration, in my opinion).

**Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark**

Hawke saw no reason to let a perfectly good campsite go to waste for the evening and, as such, the three of them; now two elves and a human, had settled at last around the roaring fire just as the sun reached its zenith. Mariner, happily free of his chains thanks to Fenris, sat on the far side, away from the other two, as Hawke set about to cook them a passable stew from the potatoes and vegetables stored in the second tent.

“So…” Hawke tried, by way of casual conversation directed at their newest companion. “How exactly did you end up all the way down here? I didn’t think your people really came this far south.”

“We don’t usually. It’s not safe as…well…I suppose you can see.”

“Is your caravan on the coast then?”

Mariner shifted uncomfortably. “No. They’re… dead.”

Fenris looked up from where he sat, whetting the edge of his sword. “The slave traders?”

“Yes, but not these. I think my happening upon this particular group was just another stroke of misfortune in a long string of bad luck on my part.”

Hawke knew they were treading on dangerous ground here but he had developed something of a specialty in volatile elves as of late. “Is that why you want to go to Amaranthine? To find the ones who did it?”

Mariner sighed and drew his knees up against the chill coming in off the ocean. “I’m not out for revenge, if that’s what you are worried about. Three were taken captive, bound for the exchanges into Tevinter. I thought if I could get into the city, I could find where they went. Or, where they had been sold off to, anyway.”

“Were they also…asha…ash…”

“Ashvani. Yes.”

Fenris interjected before Hawke managed to hurt himself. “They came specifically for them?”

Again, Mariner shifted self-consciously and stared down at the ground near the fire. “They caught us on the road from the Kirinae villages. The elders had warned us before leaving that we shouldn’t be traveling in such a large group, that it would only attract unwanted attention. But we were family and… it was so hard to imagine splitting up just because some bandits might be lurking. We should have listened but…” He trailed off.

Fenris shot Hawke a look warning him not to press further.

“But I suppose that’s how all these stories start, right? The bad reasons that have brought us all here?” The younger elf continued. “They were ready for us, though. An entire company ambushed the caravan from behind. They killed most of the ash, the men and the old, rounded up the asha and bound them together. I don’t know where they took them. Then they searched everyone and identified the ashvani. They separated them out and took them to the ships bound for the Amaranthine. It was pretty obvious they were who they really wanted.”

“How did you escape?” Hawke did his best to keep his tone neutral and casual.

“I…didn’t. I wasn’t there.”

“I don’t quite follow. How do you know that’s what happened to them then?”

Mariner glanced up at the bubbling pot of impromptu stew. It actually smelled pretty good, with the mix of tarragon and rosemary seasonings that made ‘traveler’s soup’ so memorable. That and the camp reminded him so much of his caravan that he almost failed to swallow the rush of sorrow that welled up in his throat. 

“I was led away by a vision before it happened. Something I saw…in the woods near the foothills. At first, I thought it was a real thing but…it turned out to be a Fade apparition. I guess I should have known but it didn’t strike me as out-of-place at the time. It took me into the bramble and then up along the mountain-side before I realized that it was just…nothing. Wisps of smoke and fog on an early morning. Not the first time I’ve had that problem, though, so I wasn’t really all that upset about it. It hadn’t taken me far in any case, so I thought I might just rejoin everyone on the other side of the ridge where the road curved around. They’d just give me a hard time for running off after spirits again and off we’d go. But when I reached the slope, I saw what was happening. I saw what was done to them. Saw them taken. I wanted to help them but…what I could I do? I tried to follow afterwards but I couldn’t …once the ships left port.”

“I’m sorry.” Hawke offered. “I’m sorry they did that to you and your family. But I’m going to be honest with you, it’s not a lot to go on. Three random elves in a city like Amaranthine is like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. Slave markets can sometimes be in the thousands, depending.”

“I can find them. There’s only one reason they took our ashvani there; Alcuin, Lyric, and Aurvandil. There’s only one reason they ever take us there.”

Fenris suddenly dropped his whetstone, going white-knuckled at the grip of his sword. “No.” He spit. “That practice has been outlawed for a decade. It’s illegal, under punishment of imprisonment or exile.”

Mariner unflinchingly met the gaze of the angered elf. “And you think that has stopped it? You think the rich will not pay handsomely for what they want? All it has done is make it more…exclusive.” The last word came out almost like a snarl.

Hawke slumped onto the log nearest Fenris with a frustrated groan. “Ok, look, I know that whatever conversation is currently going on between you two is about what I can only guess is some horrific shared experience and all that, but can one of you please explain to me what is going on? This is something about slave-breeding again, yes?”

“No, Hawke. I’m afraid it’s much worse than that.” Fenris carefully laid his weapon aside and turned to face his lover who remained hunched over next to him. “Do you know what Serenic is?”

Serenic. Yes, actually he did know that word. Back when the old Inquisition first created the original Rite of Tranquility; the ritual that stripped mages of their connection to the Fade and rendered them Dreamless, there had been only one known method of reversal. This was through the use of a dangerous and extremely rare substance referred to then only as High Spirits. Later, it became known as Serenic when it was used in secret by mage clinics to free Tranquils without the knowledge of either the Circles or the Templars. Unfortunately, reconnecting mages with the Fade was not the only thing it did and within a few years Serenic was also being used recreationally by the wealthy and elite for its potently euphoric effects and tendency to induce intensely lucid dream-states. Dream-states that unfortunately, should the drug ever be abused or indulged in too frequently, became permanent. In that way, the Serene and the Tranquil were quite alike, if only at wildly opposite ends of the spectrum. The Tranquil had no connection whatsoever to the Fade, the Serene had far too much of it.

“I know it’s a drug.” Hawke answered. “Of sorts. My father used to warn us about it when Bethany, Carver, and I were kids. But it was mostly a rich kind of thing; way out of our league. Every now and again you’d hear stories about some noble or some king’s kid overdosing on the stuff and going insane. It was pretty much universally banned after the Templars found out that mages were using it to avoid Tranquil. Or that it could reverse Tranquil. It was hard to come by even then though, especially after the entire city-to-city campaigns dedicated to rooting it out. Just being caught with a dram of it could get you prison.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “And…do you know where it comes from?”

Hawke had that sinking feeling in his stomach. The kind of sinking feeling he always got when he and Fenris has these kinds of conversations. He had already pieced together that the slave traders who had attacked the Elusivir at Kirinae were there to harvest the ashvani and that the ashvani were then being sold into the slave trade in the Tevinter Imperium via Amaranthine specifically because they had something to do with producing Serenic…but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what their relationship to the substance was.

“No.” The mage finally replied, chewing his lip. “And I don’t really want to know, do I?”

To Hawke’s surprise, Fenris did not answer him but turned to Mariner instead. “I will explain it to him. But I think I should do so later. You do not need to hear this.”

Mariner sighed but didn’t look up. 

“In fact!” Hawke jumped to his feet, oddly grateful for a break in the tension. “How about we all have a nice lunch instead and then see what we can do with this camp? I, for one, am starving!”

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer from either of the elves as he spooned out large bowlfuls of the stew and handed them to his companions. A brief, comfortable, silence followed as each attempted to wrangle large hunks of steaming potatoes and carrots in amongst a slurry of celery, mushrooms, broth, and herbs. Mariner even found that he was pleasantly surprised at the mage’s cooking skills. It was a passable stew; even, he thought, rather good.

As they slowly began to finish the meal, Fenris decided to change the subject.

“Fade visions, you said? So, you are an Oracle then?”

Mariner laughed, a little sadly. “Occasionally. But I'm not very good at it.”

“An Oracle?” Hawke queried.

“Interpreter of the Fade.” Fenris answered. “One who reads signs in the Dreaming. The Elusivir are famous for them.”

“Is that like a Somniari? A mage who shapes the Fade?”

“Oracles do not necessarily wield magic per se.” Mariner supplied. “The Fade speaks to us in specific ways, usually through images or symbols, while both dreaming and awake.”

“So... a fortune teller?”

“I am not a fortune teller.” The younger elf growled. “I don't read tea leaves, I’ve never owned a crystal ball, and I don't know what your star-sign means, if anything. Just…horrible stereotypes.”

“Oh. Sorry. Then....what did you see? Before all the bad happened, I mean?”

Mariner shrugged. “Same thing I always see, funny as that may sound. Same thing I've seen for years now. I’ve had the same recurring vision since I was young. At first, there are butterflies. These… red-orange butterflies with white spots all over them that I’ve never seen elsewhere. And wherever they are going, I look into the distance and I see a great black wolf. Shaggy, massive, thing with these dark, reflective, eyes. It’s watching me. Waiting for me, I think. It wants me to follow but…whenever I do it just… disappears again. I’ve never figured what it means even when there are differences from one occurrence to the next. I told you I wasn't very good at it.”

“Maybe you were supposed to find us!” Hawke smiled through the last of his briny potatoes.

“Do you have a thing for wolves?” Mariner smiled back, incredulously.

The mage motioned towards his companion. “Well, there’s Fenris. His name means “wolf.” And…uh…”

“Are you my little butterfly, Hawke?” Fenris retorted, the humor in his voice giving his amusement away.

Hawke scowled. He might be a smart-ass, but at least he was usually a smart-ass with the witty upper-hand.

“No.” Mariner finally chuckled. “I appreciate it but I don’t think that’s what it’s about. Maybe one day I’ll understand it but, for now, it’s probably just going to be one of those mysteries.”

“Hrmph.” Hawke huffed but without any force behind it. It was actually nice to see the two elves smile a little.

********

As they searched the camp, the afternoon quickly wore on into early evening and it was nearly dusk by the time the three companions had fully taken stock of their situation. Rolling the last of the supplies into the front end of the nearest tent, Hawke turned to get a better look at the pack-horse: a short, stocky, draft-type pony with a rounded nose and a grey-flecked coat.

“Hey, do either of you want these carpet pads? I think they’re probably supposed to go under the bedrolls.”

Fenris glanced up from a rucksack he was casually rummaging through. “Matters little to me. Take them if you want them. I’m guessing we’ll be sleeping here tonight either way.”

At this point, Mariner had also wandered back into the fold from his brief foray out onto the beach. 

“That’s not a bad idea. I don’t think you’ve left a slaver alive and no one else knows the camp is here, as far as I know. Secrecy was kind of their thing, even if they were abysmally bad at it. And Hag Slip isn’t exactly on the main road, so we shouldn’t be found by chance either. It might be the most peace and quiet we get for a while. Oh, and Hawke, watch out for Bodkin over there, he…”

“YAAAGH! OW!!”

…. bites.”

********

It was nearly midnight by the time Fenris entered the last tent, finding Hawke lounging back on the blankets and decadent carpets the erstwhile slavers and seen fit to outfit their camp with. Clearly, the group had intended to remain at Hag Slip for some time and had outfitted all three tents with a variety of comforts. Mariner, for his part, had chosen to sleep alone in the second tent; leaving the two lovers alone again at last in the third, nearest the waterfront. Though, it had not escaped Hawke that Fenris seemed broodier than usual and had remained outside, seated next to the campfire, until the stars were high and the other two had long since retired.

As his elven companion finally made his way over to him Hawke sat up, offering his hand to invite him down to his side. Without hesitation, Fenris accepted it but decided to sit across from Hawke rather than drop into his arms as the mage clearly desired.

“What I have to tell you, Hawke, is… not easy for me.” He began. “But Mariner should not be the one to have to explain any of this.”

Hawke sighed. “Fen, it’s okay if you don’t want to get into it. I can guess. Your people have been treated terribly for a very long time and I have no doubt that the Imperium occasionally does appallingly gruesome things to elves for no other reason than it can. You’re not going to shock me.”

“This…might.”

Fenris shifted on his heels to sit cross-legged rather than on his knees. In truth, what he really wanted was to crawl into Hawke’s arms right now, rest his cheek against his chest, and be held against him until the worry and the pain subsided. But first, he had to ensure that Hawke understood what was at stake here. But it meant talking about many things he would rather have never revisited again in a lifetime.

“When I was a slave, Danarius used to covet the idea of owning an ashvani. He wanted one desperately, in fact. So much so that he would scour the slave markets every month trying to find one. Even after the production of Serenic was outlawed, he would still routinely bribe raiders in the hopes of getting one. Every chance he got in every city we ever visited; he was looking for them. If he’d had encountered one on the streets, I have no doubt he’d have had him kidnapped and chained within the hour. He wanted nothing more than the prestige of having and displaying such a rare and precious pet, and I am sure that he had every intention of using said ashvani to procure Serenic once he figured out the method.”

Hawke nodded, showing Fenris that he was paying close attention. “Did he ever…get one?”

“No, thank the Maker.” Fenris relaxed slightly, his back curving forward as he came to rest his chin on his hands. “He never found one, but not for lack of trying. Any ashvani with the misfortune of ending up in the slave pens is never there for very long and slave-owners are neither inclined to advertise that they are in possession of one, nor are they apt to ever sell them.”

“So…” Hawke coughed to clear his throat. “Serenic comes from an ashvani?”

“Yes.” Fenris breathed. “Serenic slaves are a barbaric practice, Hawke. Vile to the very core. It doesn’t just rob the slave of their freedom; it drains them of their very lifeforce, their connection to the Fade and their own souls. They become like the Tranquil almost; unfeeling, cold, numb…as though they are sleep-walking in both worlds.”

“It’s a ritual, then?” 

“Of sorts.” Fenris replied, still struggling against his memories and own sense of rising dread and panic. “Ashvani have a unique connection to the Fade. In a way, it almost flows through them; saturating them with its presence. It’s why they have the position they do among the Elvhen clans and villages. It’s why the Dalish prize them so much; seeing them as a kind of link to an ancient elven way of being. I mean, I don’t know if it they are or not but whatever their instinctual abilities might be, it has meant their near extinction.”

“Have you ever seen the ritual?” Hawke wasn’t sure if he should be pressing Fenris for more information at this point and he certainly didn’t like seeing the state his lover was slowly working himself into but he truly did want to know what was going on. And to put a stop to it if that was within his purview.

“Once.” Fenris sagged backwards and flopped down onto the blanket behind him. He didn’t think he could look Hawke in the eyes for this part. “Danarius attended an elite banquet in Val Royeaux in Orlais many years ago. The sponsor of this particular event was a…baron…or banner…or something along those lines. I don’t remember his exact title. But he owned a Serenic slave; an ashvani he’d taken from an alienage in Jader. I have never seen someone so utterly …defeated. Hawke, I…” The words caught in his throat and threatened to spill down his cheeks.

Hawke leaned up immediately and rolled onto his side so that he could lay next to Fenris.

“He was like a living ghost.” Fenris continued. “He barely spoke. Wouldn’t even really ever look anyone in the eye. He just, sort of, existed. He would stand passively next to his master; wouldn’t even flinch when anyone and everyone came up to touch him or pet him. Probably wasn’t much older than I was at the time but there almost wasn’t anything left of him. I don’t even think they had a name for him.”

“What happened to him?” Hawke gently prodded.

Fenris sighed. “The same thing that happens to all Serenic slaves. They brought him into the center of the room where the baron had put this huge red cushion. They stripped him and then they gave him a high dose of a combination of witherstalk, elfroot, and lyrium.”

“Maker.” Hawke shuddered. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“It makes them…extremely compliant. Witherstalk acts like a contraceptive and elfroot combined with lyrium sends them into a trance-like state. I heard the baron say that is also ensures that the resulting Serenic is…I don’t know…suitably potent, or something.”

“Well, on some level, I guess this ashvani wasn’t going to mind whatever happened afterwards, at least. Not with that stuff in his system.”

Fenris shot Hawke a wilting look but didn’t admonish him for the statement. Ultimately, he was actually right. Elfroot and lyrium had such intoxicating effects that the drugged ashvani in question (or really any elf made subject to it) often had little to no memory of the next several days; the ritual included. 

“No.” He replied. “Small favors, I suppose.”

“But since you mentioned witherstalk, I’m guessing the next part of this ritual involves the slave-owner, or one of the guests, raping this poor kid, doesn’t it?”

Fenris was silent for a moment and Hawke did not prompt him again. Instead, the mage reached out to tentatively stroke Fenris’ side reassuringly. If nothing else, letting him know he was there.

“Yes.” Fenris stared up at the ceiling of the tent. “But it cannot be done by a human. The ashvani must be taken by another elf; preferably one of a similar magical inclination but beyond that, any healthy male will do. Such was the case, as I witnessed it. The elite also loved to use this as a point of competition, of course. Whose slave would be the one to do it…whose slave might be made to…perform for the crowd.”

Hawke’s fingers reflexively tightened into Fenris’ tunic. “Fen…they didn’t make you…?”

Fenris chuckled bitterly. “No. It wasn’t me. Danarius was keen to watch, certainly, but didn’t put my name up for consideration, for which I am…grateful, I suppose. Had he ever actually managed to purchase a Serenic slave, I’m sure that would have changed, though. I have no doubt he would have delighted in such a…. pairing. And the results of it.”

Hawke let out a slow breath. “Alright. So, they chose another elf to…do it. Everyone got their erotic show, no doubt. And then?”

“When the male was finished, he’d hardly caught his breath before two of the baron’s guards grabbed him and pulled him away. I remember thinking how odd it was, at the time, that he actually fought them a little. He kept struggling not be forced off of the ashvani. I think he even bit one of them, actually. Now I think it was because he actually knew the ashvani. I think they’d been together before or, at least, that they were close in some sense.”

“He was trying to protect him?” 

“I think so. It would make sense, considering what followed. More men came and tied the ashvani down, though it wasn’t like he was resisting. Then I saw his master come over and kneel down to him. For a moment, I thought that he was going to take him but no, that wasn’t the intent. Instead, while the others held the ashvani down, he pushed his thighs apart again and then…he was doing something. I couldn’t exactly see it but he pressed the heel of his hand hard into the ashvani’s abdomen. Like, pressing and kneading with his fist. It was obviously painful because the ashvani cried out and even with the state he was in, started to fight. But his master just kept at it and then, in his other hand he had this…instrument. Like a curved metal rod with a flat edge. He put it inside of him. I’ll never forget the sound the ashvani made then. Not for as long as I live, Hawke.”

With a combined sense of boldness and concern, Hawke slid closer so that he was actually in contact with Fenris’s side, holding him loosely as the elf related his experience.

“And that’s how they harvested him. Wringing it out of his body like they were milking an animal. That’s what Serenic is, Hawke. It’s a mixture of the fluid secreted by a mated ashvani and their partner’s seed. Produced in the intimate joining of their bodies and then forcibly stolen from them. The masters extract it and cure it with drying spices so that it becomes like a white balm, which they keep in wooden jars. Just a touch of it, Hawke, and they can languish in euphoria for days. Meanwhile, the slave they’ve raped and reaped dies a little more with each time. And that’s the eventual and inevitable end of Serenic slave. One day, they’re drugged into oblivion and they never come back.”

Hawke stiffened and turned to look down at Fenris, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off the ceiling. 

“That’s….” He started. “That’s…. oh, dear gods…. Fenris, that’s disgusting! It’s…it’s grotesque! People actually do this?!”

Fenris immediately rolled his shoulders to better regard the mage. “Seriously, Hawke? You’re a human, you’ve seen what humans do, and _this_ strikes you as especially gross?”

Hawke sputtered. “I…. yes!”

Fenris groaned lowly. “Humans routinely scour the oceans for whale vomit to make ambergris to make perfume. You hunt deer to scoop out the musk in their glands to make incense and soap. You cook and eat the testicles of goats and bulls for virility and for some reason the idea that the rich steal the fluids of their elven slaves to use at their leisure grosses you out? Not to mention, of course, how highly prized it has been by you mages attempting to avoid the punishment for…”

“Fenris!”

Hawke met his lover’s rising anger with a terse shout. “I am not your enemy.” 

He could feel the tense trembling in Fenris’ arms, see the fury and the hurt in the set of his jaw and the furrowing in his brow.

“Fen. We’ve been through this how many times? I’m with you. I’m here for you. You don’t have to persuade me as to what is the right course of action here. I’m not going to fight you on this, so please, don’t treat me like your adversary. I want to be your partner in this. I want you to trust me.”

“I…do trust you, Hawke.” Fenris took a breath in an attempt to release some of the rigidity in his back. “The only reason I’m telling you any of this is…because I trust you. It’s just…this is just…difficult…”

“I know. Depravity is sometimes…difficult. But I understand. I do. I understand that we’re going to Amaranthine tomorrow and that we’re going to find these three ashvani and get them out of whatever trouble they’re currently in. That we’re going to help Mariner save what’s left of his family and get them home. I told you that, one day, I was going to take you to stranger places, didn’t I? Well, I’d say I’m a man of my word and this definitely counts.”

Fenris actually laughed a little and the sound of it made Hawke relax a bit more. So much so, the mage even chanced a delicate kiss to the elf’s lips before leaning back and raising his hand to caress Fenris’ face. When his lover turned to press his cheek into the touch, Hawke bent down to kiss him again. He kept it slow, teasing the other lightly with his tongue until Fenris brought a gauntleted hand up to his neck to keep him still. When Hawke finally let up, he was pleased to note that his lover had yielded to him, and was calm and lax in his arms.

“I love you, Fenris. I love you and I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“Donumte, amatus. You are a gift to me.”


	4. The Butterfly Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (There's just a ton of sex in this chapter. But it's story-important sex. Sorry, not sorry. - Nas)
> 
> Also: In case you forget.
> 
> Ash = A male elf  
Asha = A female elf  
Ashvani = Third gender; an intersex female.

**Chapter 4: The Butterfly Effect**

Hawke awoke a few hours later to see Fenris sitting up at the edge of the blankets, back and head bowed; rubbing at the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefingers. Carefully, he propped himself up on his elbows so as not to startle the elf.

“Fen? You okay?”

“I…I can’t sleep.” He replied, his voice pained and a little melancholy.

Hawke sat up, drawing up behind Fenris and reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly. “Troubled thoughts?”

“Hrmph.” Was the only response, but it was enough to communicate to the mage that he was both correct and that Fenris had no desire to talk about them any further.  
“Hey.” He called softly. “Look at me.”

Hawke couldn’t really see Fenris in the deep gloom of the tent but he could just make out his silhouette and the dim limn of his white hair as he turned and faced him. With a flick of his wrist, the mage brought the ambient light up just enough to be able to see his lover seated next to him, as well as the somber look he wore. 

He then reached out and framed Fenris’ face with hands, pulling him close enough to kiss him gently. Fenris didn’t respond at first, but then slowly began to return the affection as Hawke nipped at his bottom lip; enticing his lover to open his mouth. Hawke meant it to be loving and sympathetic, to also wordlessly communicate to his partner that he didn’t need him to say anything else. Within moments however, he was suddenly left stunned by the passion with which Fenris countered him. He didn’t speak but instead conveyed his need, his desperation for comfort and understanding, by unexpectedly climbing into Hawke’s lap and devouring his mouth with unmatched ardor. Hawke shuddered, wrapped his arms tightly around the slender elf, and recklessly drank of his kisses.

********

Mariner groaned in frustration and buried his face in his arms. He’d been dreaming again and had seen The Wolf; the great black beast that had haunted his life since the beginning and the butterflies that always heralded his arrival. But like so many of his encounters with this particular vision, this one was slightly different than the last. The Wolf was bounding through a snow-covered field, the butterflies taking on the character of light flurries drifting down from a vast and overwhelming sky. In the distance, a fortress rose above everything on the side of a ragged mountain. Wind-torn banners flapped in the high winds but he didn’t feel the biting cold, rather, the unobscured sun beat down at his back and made the world around him feel like a wool blanket that had been resting on the stones of an open hearth. But it ended as it always did. He tried to follow; tried to call out to The Wolf. It had turned towards him and in a moment, he had almost known its name, such as one does in dreams. But then he had awoken with a start and forgotten it again.

The young elf sighed, rolling onto his back and scrubbing at his face with mild aggravation. It was still very late, not yet dawn, and the sounds of the ocean waves just a few meters beyond his tent were incredibly soothing. A whish and a hush, followed by the patter of droplets in the sand. And then his ears pricked at another sound, even closer that the water, in the tent next door. It was a breathless kind of sound and then a stifled …was that a…moan? Mariner suddenly flushed with embarrassment. Apparently, it would seem that his two new companions were…intimately engaged. The rustling of clothing was unmistakable, replaced by a muddled curse and then what had to be the mage purring compliments to his partner. Mariner had guessed that the two were close when he’d met them earlier that morning but he hadn’t actually realized that they were _close_. 

“Maker, Fenris, quit teasing me!” Came the muffled groan that was shortly followed by a light chuckle; low and rough, very much like the other elf’s deeper voice. Mariner automatically went still and quiet, throwing his blanket up and around his head as he had been in the habit of doing back in the caravan. After all, when one usually lived in such close proximity to others as encampment required, the occasional sounds of love-making were neither shocking nor unfamiliar. He hadn’t, however, quite expected to hear such noises from Hawke and Fenris, of all people in the world. A few moments passed before he then figured he should try to settle and wait for it to pass but instead, Mariner found himself listening to their exchanges, which were oddly intriguing.

“Touch yourself for me. I want to see you.” It was Hawke’s husky voice, smoky and rich with growing arousal. Mariner shivered as goosebumps began to spread across his arms at the sound. No one had ever spoken to him like that, though he had imagined it from time to time. How beautiful it would be to lie with a man who spoke to a lover like that.

It was answered with a growl before Hawke spoke again. “Don’t look at me like that. I want to watch you make yourself come.” A pause, “I want to see how you touch yourself; how you like it the most.” Another pause and Mariner started to picture the two of them kissing between each phrase. “While you think of me,” he continued. “Watching me, watching you.”

An answering sigh of pleasure likely meant that his lover was obeying him and it caused Mariner to blush. He'd never been particularly privy to others’ intimate conversations; just the gasps and cries of the act itself but he didn’t mind it really. They likely thought that he was long since asleep anyway, and he would be, if not for images of an accursed wolf and a mountain glen he’d never seen before now. 

“That’s it, love.” Hawke’s voice once more filled the silence. “Play with me.”

A muffled groan, musical with an ardent sigh, drifted to Mariner’s ears; a very alluring sound that made the younger elf wonder just exactly what it was that Fenris was doing that would cause him to make such a noise. Hawke certainly knew how to tease intense responses from his elven lover, if nothing else. 

“Hawke…” Came the breathless moan again, broken and uneven.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” The other replied softly. “Keep going, just like that. By the gods, you’re beautiful.”

Mariner stared intently at the ceiling, his ears growing hot with a mixture of abashment and arousal. He felt like such a voyeur! But he also didn’t want to give away the fact that he was awake and aware of them. The sounds between them were so needy and so plaintive, it seemed cruel to put a stop to them. Which, he had no doubt, would happen if he made enough noise to get their attention. Surely, he could do no harm by simply listening, though.

“No…” Fenris growled abruptly. “Don’t touch me. I’ll…” He groaned again. “I’ll come.”

A series of murmurs then erupted through several beats of a fist smacking the ground, which was then overtaken by a wanton cry of release. The words that quickly tumbled out of the mage as a result told Mariner that, firstly, Hawke had not done as Fenris had asked and secondly, that he was finding it necessary to soothe his lover through his orgasm.

“Oh, yes. Fen. That’s it. That’s just perfect. Come for me. I told you, you’re beautiful.” 

A soft sigh was slowly exhaled, and then, “What are you doing?” Fenris’ voice was filled with sedated passion and panting.

“Licking it off of you.” Came the answer, slightly amused. “I love how you taste.”

“Hm.” Was immediately answered with more rustling of cloth and a muted gasp. 

“Sorry.” Hawke chuckled, a little more brightly. “I didn’t realize you were ticklish.”

“I’m not ticklish.” Fenris bantered back. 

“Yes, you are.” Hawke chided him before apparently moving away, given the amount of shuffling and scraping that could be heard. Another crackle of leather and a fastener being unclipped.

“What are you doing?” The question was repeated. This time, Mariner thought he could detect some reticence in the other elf’s voice.

“What does it look like?” Was the answer and Mariner could practically hear the smile on Hawke’s voice.

“Don’t.” Was the hesitant reply.

“Why not?” This time a frown.

“It’s too soon.” Fenris sighed, “Just… give me a minute.”

A long pause ensued and Mariner imagined them staring at one another; he could almost feel the tension through the canvas walls before Hawke apparently decided on his answer.

“Mmmmm…. No.” he stated.

“Venhedis!” Fenris nearly shouted the elven curse as a there was a dull crash followed by the sounds of a struggle. Mariner could hear the other elf gasping and thrashing on the blankets, however, as his lover began doing something to him that caused all their caution to fly to the wind. 

“Stop, stop, stop…” he chanted, “Hawke! I can’t, I can’t…” he groaned again, but then his chants and pleas changed suddenly from desperation to desire. “Yes, oh Maker, yes… If you don’t stop –“ the statement was cut off by a frustrated hiss.

Mariner swallowed and continued to stare unseeing up at the ceiling of the tent. He had no idea what position Hawke and Fenris were in at this particular moment but it sounded as though the mage had the other pinned to the floor and was doing some rather amazing things to him. Fenris, at least in the short time Mariner had known him, had not seemed to be an overly talkative kind of fellow but in Hawke’s arms he became somewhat more…garrulous, one might say.

“Fasta vass.”

“Shh…it’s alright.” The mage teased, “Don’t tell me you’re upset with me now? You told me to stop.”

“Argh, enough.” Was Fenris’ huffed response, followed by a sigh as Mariner detected the first groan of passion from the mage. “Though, I do like how hard you get for me.”

Mariner flushed at the mental picture of what Fenris must now be doing to the mage and tightened his hold on the blanket over his head, suppressing an urge to shiver. For some reason, just listening to the two men in the other tent was hotter than anything he’d experienced before. Granted, it was a pretty low bar to clear in his case, as Mariner had remained still largely untouched beyond a few fleeting experiences years ago. And he’d never been taken by another; had never allowed it, though he had wanted to in the past. But every potential partner he’d ever encountered just hadn’t been…right. For some reason. He couldn’t explain it and it was incredibly frustrating, though it did nothing to dampen his current curiosity.

“I want your mouth on me.” Hawke’s husky voice came out as a choked sob. “Is…is that alright, Fen?”

“Hmm? Oh, I should think so.”

Different kinds of butterflies danced in Mariner’s head at the thought of what Fenris was about to do to the mage. He’d seen a few of the asha of his caravan do this before and many of them certainly enjoyed it, if their conversations were to be believed. The ash obviously did, either way. His fellow ashvani, on the other hand, had always been rather circumspect on the topic. If they did it or not, they’d never really talked about it. Another bit of rustling and then Hawke let out a gravelly, “Yes!” 

The mage groaned, low and husky before he started to pant and whisper. It seemed as though he was trying to be quieter than before but the sounds he made were no less arousing for doing so. A long sigh drifted up to the Mariner’s ears, soon followed by a few short breaths. 

“What is it?” Fenris asked.

A slight chuckle, “You’re quite…uh… talented at this. I fear I’m… too close.”

“So, let me swallow you.” Puzzlement showed through the walls.

“No.” Was the very direct reply.

“Why?” His elven lover sounded even more confused.

“Because I…I want to be inside of you.” The whisper was so low, so tentatively shy, that Mariner almost wasn’t sure he’d heard the words right.

“I see.” Fenris replied, though there was something odd in his tone. He almost sounded…apologetic?

“I mean…” Hawke started again, like he was trying to explain why he would be asking for something so outlandish when, as far as Mariner understood it, his request was soundly in the realm of the easily anticipated.  
“You don’t have to justify yourself, Hawke. It’s alright.” Fenris interrupted him before he could get much further. “Come to me, then.” 

“Fen.” Hawke’s voice held all the tenderness and adoration in the world and it almost brought tears to Mariner’s eyes to hear him speak with such gentleness to his lover. “I just…I need you. I need you close to me. I want to feel you around me.”

The rest of his words were muffled by a kiss.

After a short time, Mariner heard Hawke’s voice once more. “Lie back. I’ll take care of you.”

There was the sound of tapping on glass, a stopper being pulled, some more shifting about on the piles of bedclothes, and then near silence. Mariner took in a breath and held it. A slight moan made him grip the blanket now threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t pull it off of his mouth.

“Are you ok?” Hawke sounded a little concerned.

“Yes.” Fenris’ reply wasn’t forced, though it seemed like it might be too much for him to talk just now. “More.” He demanded.

His moan turned into a growl which was then cut off into a cry. “Right... there...” He panted. Then a slap of skin against skin. “Enough, I’m ready for you.”

“Are you sure?” Hawke once more asked. There was no verbal answer, only sounds that Mariner could imagine what he wanted of them.

A strangled cry broke the silence, so tortured that he didn’t know who it came from, followed by a harsh groan. “Maker, you’re so fucking tight.” Hawke whispered.

“Just move.” Fenris all but snapped at him right before Mariner heard the unmistakably rhythmic sound of two lovers fully pairing. There may not have been any bed to creak, headboard to bang against thin walls, or other furniture to give them away, but the beat of flesh against flesh, and body bracing against body, had their breaths coming in the same unified tempo. 

Soon enough, Hawke was plying the most marvelous noises from Fenris’ mouth. The other elf’s words were quiet and whispered into his lover’s body but he moaned, and sighed, and then he did something that Mariner had never pictured the well-armed and armored elf ever doing. He started to beg. He begged his lover to go faster, to take him harder, to let him feel his need and his desire for him. And by their ever-increasing cadence, Mariner presumed that Hawke was all too happy to oblige.

Within minutes, words between them were lost as both lovers began to moan and keen; making every carnal sound there was to make before startling Mariner with the strength of their cries as they found release together. Fenris, as the younger elf noted, cried out quickly and then seemed to gnaw on his moans has he rode out his climax pressed against his lover’s weight. Hawke, conversely, built into his cry with softer growls and exclamations before a crescendo to his peak and final howl of ecstasy. Everything after that fell into silence as they stifled any other sound they might have made with deep, lasting, kisses.

Mariner did not fail to notice that he was breathing hard and even sweating. He cursed himself, feeling like a fool and a bit like a pervert, though still not knowing what else he might have done instead. As the other tent fell completely silent and the sound of the waves returned, he harshly pulled the blanket off of his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, rolling over onto his side with his back facing the wall.

If he had any more dreams tonight, they were going to be…interesting.

********

But dream Mariner did.

At first, he couldn’t see anything. There was only darkness and distortion, even when he thought his eyes were open. But he could feel. Soft wispy silk beneath his palms, his body stretched out onto a pliable mossy embankment. Cool air wafting against his skin and his face pressed into the delicate cushion of something downy but yielding. Mariner sighed, vaguely aware that he was naked but unconcerned about it. On some level, he was also aware that he was dreaming but he was surprised at how lucid he felt, how real the touch of the world was against his skin, and how sensitive to it he was quickly becoming.

But then, he had the sudden realization that he was not alone. 

With a gasp of shock, he felt the press of another’s body against the length of his; felt warm skin at his back and the light puff of hot breath at the nape of his neck. For a second, he thought he should be afraid, that he should leap up from his prone position and flee into the woods that surrounded them. But then, even more strangely, the other spoke.

“Hush, da’len. Do not fret. You are safe in Setheneran. I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

This voice was unlike any he had ever heard. Deep but gentle, with such a polite and moderate timbre that Mariner almost immediately felt at ease. He relaxed, even as he felt the other slide further over him, resting what felt like a solid and well-toned chest against his back and entwining his arms around him so that he easily held Mariner in place.

“Who are you?” Mariner whispered into the grass, somehow unable to turn and see who was there.

“You know me, lethallan. You have always known who I am.” He could feel smiling lips brush against his ear, inducing an involuntary shudder.

“I…don’t…” He breathed. 

“Yes, you do.” 

Mariner began to tremble as the other’s body gently rocked against him. Whomever he was with was undoubtedly male, as the ashvani could also feel him growing hard where the other’s hips rested against the back of his thighs. Again, Mariner thought that he should be resisting but he simply couldn’t bring himself to. There was something in this man’s voice, in his touch, that soothed him and restrained him at the same time. His face grew hot as he arched into the other’s weight, simply to feel more of him where they lay together. It was apparently the right response as the other sighed into his hair while fingers delicately danced down his side and splayed across his hip.

Tender kisses began at his neck and moved down to his shoulders, where a tongue started lightly licking off the salt of the sweat that had dried on his body from his earlier frustrations.

“I do know you…” Mariner breathed, shivering beneath the other’s touch. “I do know you.”

“Elgara vallas, da'len. Melava somniar. Tel'enfenim” (The sun sets, little one. It is time to dream. Do not be afraid.)

“I am not afraid.” He was almost surprised at the words but he certainly meant them. The man behind him was touching him so sweetly and the dream was so beguiling, Mariner had no interest in defiance.

“Good.”

Mariner spread his thighs beneath the body that covered him and arched his lower back, as if he knew what he was doing. He heard his would-be lover let out a strained breath and felt his hand as it reached around his hip, more than eager to coax further sounds from the ashvani by sliding his palm over the soft mound of his sex. When the pad of the other’s index finger found the velvety lips and then the tender skin around his opening, Mariner couldn’t help but twitch and reflexively try to twist away.

“You’re already wet for me.” That sultry voice whispered into his ear, taking the time to lick his way down from the tip and nibbling along the ridge of the pinna to his neck.

Mariner could not seem to formulate an answer other than to bend his knee enough to try and get some leverage so that he could get a better sense of where the other was. With one hand, the ashvani tentatively reached back over his head as the other was placing more open-mouthed kisses on his neck and shoulder. His fingers first encountered the long point of an elven ear, followed it down to the side of the other’s head, and took immediate note of the fact that this male was completely clean-shaven and had no hair whatsoever on his head that Mariner might attempt to touch or take hold of.

He felt, rather than heard, the bemused laugh his explorations had caused. “You will have to hold on to the stones and the grass, ma vhenan. You cannot hold me just yet.”

“Hold…the stones? Why must I…”

Mariner did not get to finish the question as his entire body suddenly went rigid with the sensation of the other slowly sliding his length inside of him. The ashvani honestly did not know how to respond, as the feeling was so entirely alien to him and was so unexpected. To his shock, it wasn’t at all painful despite the fact that he had never been penetrated before and while his lover was being careful and gentle, he wasn’t giving him much time to adjust to their joining either. Mariner’s eyes snapped shut as he fought the urge to cry or pass out from the intensity of being held down, mounted, and taken by an _ash_ who so clearly seemed to know exactly what to do to pleasure him in this state. As the other completed their connection and slid fully into him, he heard the male stifle a feral growl into his back. Everything felt tight, and hot, and the cock that had him pulsed with need.

“You are mine, vhenan. Do you understand that?” The male hissed as he was finally sheathed completely inside of the ashvani.

Mariner snarled at him but it only seemed to amuse the other further. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Why…why are you doing this?” Mariner’s words had almost no force behind them and ended in a breathless moan.

“Because I must.” The other replied, shifting so that he could pin the ashvani’s wrists to the ground beneath them. “Because your spirit has called to me and I cannot deny or escape you.”

The male almost entirely pulled himself out before slowly thrusting back in with a firm but considerate stroke. “Now, I want you to say it.”

Mariner moaned and arched his back. The feeling of the other inside of him was indescribable. A hard, thick, shaft filled him, and in this position, was just the right size for him. Every time the other pulled back and then thrust into him, it felt as though he stopped just short of his womb.

“Say…what?” Was all the ashvani could manage.

The male’s fingers left his wrists to grip onto his hip hard enough to leave marks in his pale skin. “My name. Say my name, so that I know you know me.” 

His tone was harshly whispered but his voice never wavered as he began to move in earnest. The male reached around the ashvani’s hip, delving into his body again with the pad of his finger and caressing the little stop just above where they were joined. His rhythm was immediately forceful and unrelenting and he pressed into the hardened nub in time with each of his vigorous thrusts.

“Oh…gods…” Mariner gasped in utter rapture. He could barely form words as the other thrust again and again, compelling him to open up further as they mated in the hidden depths of the Fade. Under any other circumstance, he would have found the entire situation bizarre and even a little lewd, but as it was, it simply didn’t occur to him to care. 

“I..I’m…” His back arched in mindless desire. He couldn’t think, couldn’t gain a foothold in reason as the world spiraled away from him, couldn’t even piece together what it was he was supposed to do. All he knew was the feel of the strong body on his back, the impossibly hard length inside of him, the passionate, supplicating, moans of the one taking him, and then…

“Solas!!”

Mariner’s orgasm caught him by surprise and he came hard and fast, nearly breaking out of his lover’s grip as screamed the word that rushed into his mind unbidden. He didn’t know what it meant but it tumbled out of him as his body shook with wave after wave of delirious joy. Moments later, he heard the other let out a shout that was muffled in between his shoulders as the male began to spill his seed all the while holding himself deep in his body. Together, they rode out of the undulations of the climax; Mariner going white-knuckled as he dug his fingers into the clusters of moss and wildflowers and his mate holding their bodies tightly together by wrapping one arm around his mid-section and the other across his chest. When the ashvani finally felt the last of the male’s reflexive thrusts begin to settle, he all but collapsed onto the ground with the other still on top of him.

Mariner thought that he heard him say something but he couldn’t understand it. It sounded like Elvish but with an enunciation that didn’t make sense. Like something old and forgotten that only lived in texts to be read but never spoken again. He then felt his companion move away from him and with some difficulty he stirred and opened his eyes:

Just in time to see a blaze-orange butterfly alight from his hand and into the dappled canopy above.


	5. The Warp and Weft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to Amaranthine is fraught with many dangers...

**Chapter 5: The Warp and Weft**

The following morning was, in a word, brutal. Mariner sat near the remains of the fire, glaring at the ocean over a cup of sea-salt tea through what had to be the worst headache of his life. Fenris sat across from him, finishing some of the last-minute packing while Hawke attempted to wrangle Bodkin back into his harness.

“YAAAGH!! Stupid horse! This is why you’re ugly and nobody likes you!”

Mariner winced at the volume and began to gingerly rub at his temple.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asked.

“I’m fine. I just…I had the weirdest dream last night. It kept…waking me up.”

Fenris stopped and very slowly drew his eyes up to meet the other elf on the far side of the fire pit.

“It was…it was…yeah, it was one of those.” Mariner blushed and began chewing the edge of his clay cup.

“I…see.” Fenris coughed lightly and continued to wrap their procured supplies.

Mariner straightened uncomfortably. 

“Hey, Fenris? Can I ask you a personal question?”

‘This was it.’ The white-haired elf scolded himself. ‘The actual problem was that Mariner had heard everything from last night and was…freaked out? Upset? Disgusted?’ Same-sex relationships weren’t exactly extraordinary among elves but this one involved a human and an elf; one of whom was an apostate mage to boot. There was no telling what reaction they might get.

“How long have you known Hawke?”

“I…what?”

“Hawke.”

The two elves then turned to regard the titular mage in question, who was now half-jogging, half-stumbling down the rise to the beach as Bodkin ambled out onto the sand, still sans harness.

“I SAID GET BACK HERE!”

Mariner sniffed idly. “Champion of Kirkwall, you say?”

“He had…help. A lot of help.”

Fenris returned to his pack. “But I’ve known him for, oh, near ten years now, I’d say.”

“Huh.” Came the thoughtful response, followed by a sip of tea. “Long time.”

“I suppose.”

“So…” The ashvani hesitated and Fenris did not look up. “After all that time…how did you know that he was…you know, the one for you.”

Fenris let the wrap he was holding slide to the ground as he leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, and stared at Mariner with a scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m…sorry?” Clearly the other elf wasn’t angry or upset about the general topic of their conversation, so Fenris began to wonder exactly what his intent in this line of inquiry might then be.

Mariner waved one hand absently in the air as a gesture of conciliation. “I’m just curious. Seeing as you’ve been together so long; how you knew that Hawke was the one you wanted. Elves and humans don’t always get along so well in…this regard.”

Fenris contemplated his answer for quite some time. It wasn’t that he found the question embarrassing, only that no one had actually asked him something like that before.

“I didn’t…not at first, anyway.” He shrugged. “We haven’t been together, not in that way I mean, for as long as I have known him. That part is relatively recent, I guess you might say. But I’ve cared for him since long before.”

“Oh.”

“I suppose it was because…” Fenris continued. “He…pursued me.”

Mariner smiled. Human and elf relationships were uncommon where he was from, but these two honestly seemed so well suited to one another, so completely complimentary despite their protestations to the contrary, that he wasn’t at all surprised that they were lovers. What he’d overheard the previous night had merely been a confirmation of his suspicions.

“And he convinced you?”

Fenris chuckled lightly. “Yes, he convinced me. After a while, in any case.”

“MAKER’S BALLS, HORSE! FFRRRAARRGH!!”

“Well, he’s very charming.”

Fenris laughed at that; listening as Hawke finally caught up with the ornery draft pony some several meters down the shoreline. 

“Was he the one who freed you? You mentioned before that you were once a slave in Tevinter.”

“I was but no, I freed myself. Hawke was there, though. He stood with me when my master and his cronies came to reclaim me. He fought at my side then and has ever since.”

Mariner smiled. The affection in Fenris’ voice was unmistakable and it was nice to hear the older elf speak of something so fondly. 

“And you?” Fenris returned. “Did you have someone…in the caravan?”

Mariner picked at his cup cautiously. “Not in that way. Not like you and Hawke.”

“Family?”

“Everyone in caravan is family. But, no, actually. I was a foundling. I was left with the Ava’Darna when I was very young by a woman who brought me in to the encampment.”

“Your mother?”

“I’m…not sure? She was elven by their accounts, though I’m told we look nothing alike. That’s not necessarily anything to go on but she was, sadly, quite mad. Ranted nonsense and refused to eat or sleep. She died just days after. The Elusivir are the same as family, though. They never cast me apart from them, even when they could have.”

“And ‘Mariner’? Is that the name your family gave you?”

“Did your family name you ‘Fenris’?”

“Hm. Point taken.”

“That’s it!” Hawke careened side-long into the midst of the two elves, panting and wheezing as he flailed about with two unhooked horse leads, sopping muddy shoes, and a momentarily pacified Bodkin with a handful of carrots stuffed in his mouth. “I think I’ve got things under control. Finally. We can shove off whenever you two are ready.”

********

The city of Amaranthine would take them some seven to nine days to reach, depending on the state of the weather or whatever other kinds of bad luck they would inevitably encounter. At first, Fenris had suggested that Mariner ride Bodkin, in part because he had neither leggings nor boots and in part because he figured they could move faster with just he and Hawke on foot. But as it turned out, the Elusivir were not without their talents when it came to fast travel and Mariner was quick to demonstrate both his fleet-footedness and his preference for remaining quick and unhindered as they walked. There were, in fact, more than a few occasions where both Hawke and Fenris temporarily lost sight of him and had to wonder whether or not he’d been led away by another vision of wolves and butterflies. But he always reappeared, sometimes on the horizon and sometimes suddenly in their midst, having made hardly a sound.

By the third day, however, the three companions had eased into a genial comraderie and chatted amiably as they took the coastal road through Highever.

“It’s not all that unusual really.” Mariner was explaining to Hawke. “The poor, the destitute, those trapped in the alienages; many elves bring their children to the caravans in the hope that it will give them a better chance. Even a miniscule one. Sometimes they do it to escape enslavement, sometimes the child is unwanted for other reasons. All of them terrible, as you might imagine. But the caravans never take them unless they are offered freely, and sometimes not even then. For all the claims people make, the only children the Elusivir have ever stolen were their own.”

“And the woman who left you? Did you ever find out where she came from?”

“Not really. My caravani used to say that she must have come from the Imperium, given her accent. But she wasn’t speaking Tevene; more like a combination of Elvish and the common tongue. She wasn’t Dalish either, though. If I had to guess, I think it’s more likely that she knew my mother or had something to do with her when I was born. Maybe she was a midwife or a priestess. Maybe my parents were slaves and wanted me taken away, given…well, given that…”

“You’re ashvani?” Hawke finished.

“Yes.” Mariner sighed, scrubbing his heel into the rocks. “Besides, she was tall and blonde, and I am neither of those things.”

“Was it magic that did that then? Turned some of your hair white?” Hawke had been wanting to ask the young elf about this particular trait for days, but had not found a better opportunity.

“Oh, no. Well, at least, I don’t think so. I was actually born with it that way. It was all white to begin with. As it grew, though, it just started coming in dark brown. I’ve never really cut it so, I guess, until I do, it will just keep looking a little strange. I actually kind of like it, though. Was it magic that did it to you, Fenris?”

Fenris, so addressed, responded without looking back. “Yes. A ritual. The same one that gave me these markings.”

“Hmm.” Mariner tilted his head thoughtfully. “What color was it before then?”

Fenris stopped and turned, regarding both the other elf and the mage with a raised eyebrow.

“Was…that a bad question?” Mariner paused.

“Hey, don’t scowl at me. I actually kinda want to know too.” Hawke smiled and crossed his arms.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

The other two didn’t move.

“I…. well, my sister’s hair is …reddish? So…how about that?”

Hawke nodded and kicked up his step again. “Yeah, good enough. For what it’s worth though, I think you’d have made a cute redhead.”

The mage ducked but failed to avoid the loose clods of dirt that bounced merrily off of his shoulder plate.

********

As the hours passed, they encountered several other travelers and more than a few wagons and supply trains, and nearly all of them gave the unusual trio a variety of concerned or wary glances. A few had slanting words but only one caused them any trouble. It was a rogue-ish bunch to begin with; a couple of grizzled old soldiers, a sneak-thief, and some mercenary types who took two elves and a mage for easy pickings.

Fenris knew they were going to be a problem from the moment he saw them. Their leader, a heavy fighter with badly scarred hands and an unkempt beard, took point and approached them; swaggering along the road so as to clearly brandish the longsword on his hip.

“Nice pair you’ve got there, friend!” He called out to Hawke, nodding towards the elves and implying that he took them for slaves. Or servants, if nothing else.

Hawke sighed and leaned on his staff, taking up a position between the approaching group and his two companions. “We don’t have anything of use to you and we don’t need any trouble.”

“No trouble, friend.” The rogue smiled broadly, menacingly. “Just thought I might like to get a better look at that young one you’ve got there.”

“Oh, not this again.” Mariner groaned. “Is that all you people ever think about?!”

Hawke irritably tapped his staff against the ground. He really wasn’t in the mood for this. “Nope. Sorry. I’m afraid my friend isn’t up for a show today. Better for you, though. To be honest, I’m not even sure he can juggle.”

The other man glared at Hawke’s attempt at benign humor. “Not looking for a show, laddy. We rather had some better entertainment in mind, me and the boys. Now, you can do us a favor and get lost; no harm to you. Or we can take ‘em both and leave you in the ditch for the crows to figure out.”

Fenris drew his sword and pressed back towards Mariner. “Can you fight?”

“What?!”

“Can you fight?” He snarled.

“I…uh, I guess? Sort of? But I’m not armed.”

Fenris quickly pulled a dagger from his belt and handed it off. “Do not hesitate to use this.”

Mariner stood aghast at the blade in his hands as Fenris moved up towards Hawke. He’d never been in this kind of a fight before, much less ever actually had to stab anyone. He could hunt, certainly. Maybe even take on an angry predator if the situation called for it. But a band of well-armed and presumably well-trained marauders? Not a chance.

Without a doubt, however, Hawke was pissed. Having made it clear that he had no intention of turning either of the elves over to the scoundrels accosting them, he now allowed magical energies to crackle ominously through his fingers as the bandits began to circle them. Fenris dropped the point of his sword to his side as he sized up the first two and greeted their sneers with a growl.

“Last chance.” The scarred man announced.

“It is.” Hawke agreed.

“Enough of this.” Fenris snapped. “You want elves to entertain you? Come and see what I’ve got for you then.”

The swordsman who attempted to take Fenris by surprise did not do so adequately. Instead, he took the full brunt of a wide blow as he tried to stealthily approach the elf on his right side. But it was all that was needed for the entire company to erupt into a melee. Hawke immediately returned the attack with a deafening crack of lightening, arcing between several bandits before it exploded into the rocks ahead of them. Bodkin, for his part, did not seem overly concerned with the sudden violence and simply walked off the road to munch on the tall grasses near the woods opposite to the waterfront. Mariner, on the other hand, was terrified.

With a graceful leap overhead, Fenris came down hard on a soldier closing at Hawke’s back, severing his hand with what seemed to be hardly a flick of his wrist. As the man screamed, the lyrium on Fenris’ skin began to glow white-hot and Mariner watched in stunned shock as the other elf raised one gauntleted hand before slamming it deep into the attacker’s chest. A second later, Fenris closed his fist, crushing the life from the bandit before phasing his hand back through the corpse and turning on the next man that dared to engage him.

It was a bloody mess, but Mariner had no doubt that his companions were seasoned warriors; both of them working in practiced concert with one another. Separating out their opponents and taking them down one by one; Hawke favored a combination of lightening chains and an explosive palm spell whenever a fighter got too close to him, while Fenris relied on a devastating sequence of attacks that parried anything against him or against the mage before felling their foes with a singular thrust through the torso. The clash of battle unnerved him and it was hard to discern where one body would go following the next. Mariner actually started to consider whether or not he should just join Bodkin in the grass and wait.

A hand on his shoulder caused the Elusivir to whirl about and nearly stumble backwards with a shout. The sneak-thief had rounded on him and was closing quickly; a long, thin, blade held low to his waist. 

“I think we both know that you have no idea how to use that.” The man motioned towards the dagger in Mariner’s hand.

The elf tightened his grip. “Maybe not. But I do know one thing, and that’s there’s a big difference between how you get what you want and how I get what I want.”

“Oh?” The thief stepped closer, forcing Mariner back towards the shore.

“If you want me, you can’t hurt me. I’m no use to you dead.”

“True.” The man agreed. “But if you think that means I won’t carve a few pieces off of you first, you’re in for a surprise, little elf.”

Mariner swallowed and glanced towards his companions; both of whom were, unfortunately, completely embroiled in a savage battle against the rest of the blackguard company. Fenris, splattered in blood from head to toe, dove to the ground just in time to avoid a sword to his shoulder before driving his spiked gauntlet into the throat of the man above him. As he slumped down, Hawke kicked him over, raised his staff, and sent a dazzling bolt of raw power past their heads and into the two fighters charging at their backs. The first went down immediately. The second met his end at the tip of Fenris’ blade. But more were coming and there was no way to escape them.

Mariner panicked. The thief snatched at him, as if to pluck the dagger from his hand before he’d even had a chance to use it. The younger elf skittered backwards. He could be of no help in this fight. He didn’t know how to kill. He didn’t know how to stop others from killing him. All he knew was to…

…a butterfly, orange and yellow like firelight, flitted past his face…

…run.

Mariner looked to the man bearing down on him and felt a shiver run through his body; down his back and into his feet. He thought he could hear something crashing through the forest just beyond; thought he could see some great, dark, shadow rising up out of the trees. Hear the harsh panting of ragged breaths from a beast racing across the fallen leaves.

…run.

He took off. Straight into the thicket with the rogue at his heels, he could hear the man cursing and shouting at him. Yelling at him to stop; taunting him with promises of what he would do to him when he caught him. It only pressed Mariner faster; dashing over fallen timber, weaving through roots and limbs as a deer in the hunt, and bounding up brambled trunks with ease. He could hear the man pacing behind him, and though he was at a full sprint, the sounds were falling back, growing fainter in the distance. He was losing him; the human finding, to his detriment, that pursing an Elusivir in the woods was tantamount to chasing a stag on foot and within minutes, he lost sight of the elf all together. With a whip-flourish of auburn hair and a white twist, his prey vanished into the bracken.

At last, the thief pulled up, gasping and out of breath as he looked around in an attempt to get his bearings again. He was in the woods, obviously; standing in some deep glen surrounded by old growth trees that towered high into the canopy. ‘That was odd.’ He thought. He didn’t remember there being any old growth this far up the coast. The man turned, but saw only more brush and undergrowth, ivy and ferns and mosses in rolling mounds as high as a house. He could no longer see the forest’s edge nor make out the direction of the sun as dappled light filtered down into the gloom.

He turned again. Still nothing. Only more trees, more vines and wildflowers. A small cloud of white butterflies danced in the breeze before floating up into the higher branches. Instinctively, he began searching the ground for his own tracks, hoping that they might lead him back to where he had started. Clearly the elf was out of reach in here and he couldn’t even tell anymore which direction he’d gone off in. ‘That’s fine’ He mused. ‘Probably wouldn’t get much of a cut from selling him anyway.’ The men of his company, fine fighters though they might be, were better suited to treasure-goods. They tended to be a little too rough with their captives, when they had them. and by the time they’d get them to the markets, they weren’t worth much anymore. No one liked a used-up, cut-up slave.

No tracks. The man groaned in aggravation. There didn’t seem to be a way out of this place. He briefly thought he should just turn about-face and march back in the direction he _thought_ he might have come, but even that was a problem. In pursuing the elf, he knew he’d taken several turns and double-backs before arriving here. He sighed and furrowed his brow. Everything was quiet; serene and peaceful, despite the fact that he was well and truly lost. But then…there was a strange sound. Like breathing. Like a deep, drawn-out, wheeze followed by a huff. Twigs snapped beneath the weight of something large and lumbering. The hairs all along the man’s arms and neck stood up. He could hear a low, rumbling, growl; like that of a great hound…and it was approaching from behind him.

He didn’t want to look. There were no bears or wolves on the coast. No large carnivores that he knew of. But there was something there. And it was massive. And angry.

He turned, as slowly and non-threateningly as possible. A shadow blackened out the light, advancing through the foliage on huge, clawed, paws; ivory teeth glinting with specks of stolen sun. The eyes…it was the eyes though…grey-green and bright with intelligence too determined to be animal. They were…almost human.

********

Hawke blustered forward as the last two remaining bandits turned tail and ran, leaving the bodies of their company heaped onto the road. Fenris spit angrily has he pulled his sword free from the leader’s corpse, now flopped unceremoniously at his feet in an ever-widening pool of blood.

“Fenris?” Hawke called out.

“I’m fine.” He replied. “Nothing that won’t heal in a day or two. Unlike our new friends here.”

Hawke let out a relieved breath. He never doubted Fenris’ capabilities in a fight but it always worried him a little bit whenever they were forced into a conflict. A low or unexpected blow could come at any time, from anywhere, and he was always fearful that the next battle could be his lover’s last.

The mage turned as Fenris approached him, wiping some of the spatter from his face as he did so. “I think that’s all of them that we’ll have to worry about.” 

“Good.” Hawke chuffed. “I never thought it would be so difficult to get one elf to one city on what is supposed to be a reasonably safe road.”

Fenris turned and looked over his shoulder, spying Bodkin happily chomping away on stalks of yellowed grass but nothing else.

“Speaking of which…where is Mariner?”

Hawke looked up, and then to each side. He turned around and worriedly searched the bodies, but to no avail. The young elf was not among them.

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t see him…”

A blood-curdling scream of unmitigated terror erupted from somewhere in the woods.

“Oh no…” Hawke breathed before grabbing Fenris as the both of them took off at a dead run. 

Fenris’ heart pounded in his chest. They might already be too late.


	6. That Old Dalish Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariner is lost, Mariner is found, and Fenris is reminded as to why he hates Nature.

**Chapter 6 – That Old Dalish Curse**

Fenris was the first to discover the body, hidden beneath a covering of blood-soaked ferns and fallen leaves. The damage was unconscionable; strips of flesh and scraps of dripping red cloth scattered across more than a dozen meters. 

“No!” He snarled and recoiled, turning his head away in anger and shame. The dagger had been a stupid impulse; given to a frightened innocent who had no chance of properly using it. He should have protected the younger elf. He should have kept him close and kept him safe.

Hawke laid a hand on his lover’s shoulder before carefully picking his way through the splattered carnage and leaning down to get a better look at what was left of the corpse’s face. It took him a moment to press some of the foliage aside but when he did, he stood up with a shout.

“It’s not him!” 

Fenris turned abruptly, his ears perking hopefully. “How can you be sure?”

“Easy.” Hawke replied, motioning towards the head. “Not an elf. And the clothing is wrong. I think this is one of the mercenaries. He must have chased Mariner into the woods, trying to corner him.”

“Mariner didn’t do this.” Fenris gestured to the mess. “There’s something else out here, Hawke.”

The mage nodded, casting his eyes up and down the trees. “A bear, maybe. Pack of wild dogs? Or someone’s escaped…something or other. Who knows?”

Fenris glanced at the thief’s body and curled his lip in disgust. It was a horrible way to go but he had little sympathy for the victim in this case.

“Don’t worry, Fen. We’ll find him. He couldn’t have gotten that far. And besides, he’s one of the Caravani. He’s like a fish in water out here.”

Fenris huffed but he knew Hawke was right; of the three of them, Mariner was probably in the least amount of danger at this point. The Elusivir, or the Caravani to use Mariner’s own term, were experienced nomads with survival skills woven as deeply into their culture as the embroidered threads of their distinctive long-coats. But he had no idea what sort of creature could have come along and slaughtered a man in the manner that it had, because whatever it was, it was big and it was mean. And what was worse, out here, they were on its home territory.

Fenris idly kicked at the fallen man’s remaining booted foot. “Hawke…I’m…I’m sorry for all of this. I know how awful it is to hear...”

The mage cut him off. “Not half as awful as it is to live it, I’m sure.” Hawke sighed and took a lap around the bloody ground to reach his lover’s side. “Fen. Nothing that has happened so far has really shocked me, ok? Well, alright, finding out exactly what Serenic was, was kind of nauseating but that’s not your fault. And it’s not Mariner’s fault and it’s not the fault of anyone else but the sick, perverted, people who have decided they’re into that kind of thing. And I was serious before. We’re going to do what we can. It’s going to be weird and I’m probably going to be really grossed out by whatever is going on with the slave markets in Amaranthine but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to set at least some injustice right before we leave. And when it’s all over we’ll…I don’t know…take a vacation, or something. Make ourselves scarce for a while. Just you and me. Ok?”

A brief moment of silence passed as Fenris furrowed his brow and regarded Hawke with a beguiling look. “I love you. I hope you know that.”

It was something the elf said so rarely but when he did, it was always frank, direct, and spoken at the most randomly inappropriate times. Hawke, however, could not have cared less. He loved hearing it.

“I love you, too. Now, let’s go find this annoyingly sprightly friend of ours and get out of here. Before I get a tick or something.”

********  
Nothing Mariner saw could possibly be real. Great trees, tens of thousands of years old, grew as the walls of a labyrinth, strung with garlands of mistletoe and evergreen creepers until everything had become a maze of twisting, chaotic, life unencumbered. A climbing rose and flowering wisteria hung down as curtains of pink and lavender, their loose petals floating out over the surface of a low pond barely visible in the dim reaches of the glen. Mariner paused at the water’s edge, observing as a few unduly-alarmed frogs leapt from their driftwood and lily pads to plunge out of sight beneath the algae. He shook his head. Forests were usually dank and moldy places with thorns and scrub for miles on end. But now, it was as though he had unwittingly stepped into the ancient weald of a Dalish tale, or what the Elusivir sometimes called the “ascunae:” one of the missing and forgotten places of the world.

Mariner honestly couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He had no sense of which way was back, or which way might even be considered forward. He’d always had such an intuitive sense of direction but now it was failing him miserably. There were no signs of the road, he could not hear the ocean waves or smell the salt air, and if either Hawke or Fenris were looking for him, they weren’t close enough to make themselves known. The canopy also soared above him at least fifty feet, so climbing to the top of a tree to scout seemed a foolish endeavor. He did, however, slide the dagger still in his hand away into one of the internal pockets of his coat before hopping up onto one of the larger fallen logs and padding deftly across its rough surface to the point where the largest branch broke away from the trunk and he could see at least a few hundred meters in every direction.  
A gust of wind caught his attention as it moved swiftly from the heights and into the depths, rattling the leaves as it went and stirring up…more butterflies. 

‘Curious.’ He thought. They looked very much like the butterflies from his dreams and visions. All orange and red, with white speckles and tiny black bodies. They were larger, though. Bigger than the palm of a man’s hand; which seemed rather impossible for such delicate creatures. But he’d also long been convinced that such butterflies weren’t actually real; just figments of his imagination occasionally turned out by the whims of the Fade. As such, they could be any size they wanted. The morass of flapping gossamer wings was just beginning to swirl about him when a sound broke his reverie.

Mariner bristled. He was not alone and he could feel it. 

Soft footfalls heralded the arrival of another, moving along the highest rise before stepping down onto the mossy slopes of the glade. Mariner crouched down onto the log, balancing his weight easily on the balls of his feet and steadying himself with the tips of his fingers on the bark. The figure continued to approach, slowly gaining discernable characteristics as it did.

It was an _ash_; a male elf carrying what looked like a twisted hawthorn walking-staff. He was dressed simply; in a heavy rough-spun tunic belted at the waist and dark-green leggings. Around his neck appeared to be the fossilized jawbone of a predator, slung with leather lacing so that it rested mid-torso. But what caught Mariner’s attention the most was his bare head and angular face, unobscured by hood or cowl. The young elf had, by no means, forgotten the dream from only a few nights ago, and was unnerved that this male appeared exactly as he had imagined the other from his vision. The wooded valley they now met in also had recognizable notes to it, and all manner of scents and sounds he’d encountered before, but couldn’t place, assaulted his senses. There was even something uncannily familiar in the other elf’s movements and the unhurried gait by which he navigated the forest floor. All Mariner had to do now, was hear his voice.

“For so long have I hunted you, and yet never once have I seen your tracks in the ground.” It was him. It was…him! “I cannot hear you walking. I can only follow the butterflies.”

That voice. That same gentle, polite, voice; tinged with a kind of bemused tone, reached out to him from where the other stood. But by then Mariner was near hysteria. He was not asleep. This was not a dream. And yet, everything was shifting and distorted as though it was, as though nothing around him was quite what it should be. The _ashvani_ began to wonder if he was actually dead. Had the thief killed him and he simply didn’t know it yet? Was this the path into the Beyond?

“Who are you?” He called out sharply.

The _ash_ smiled up at him. “Who am I? It cannot be that you have forgotten already?” 

Mariner had no clue as to how far he might press this but he had to know more. Besides, if nothing else, maybe this elf knew how to get out of the woods and back onto the coastline. “I know a name, but I do not know if it is yours.”

“It is as good as any other then, and from you, likely just as true. But if the name you speak to is Solas, then that, most assuredly, is me.”

“It is you, then. You were the one who came to me in the dream three nights ago. It was you I felt…” His ears and cheeks began to pink with embarrassment.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You do not know who you are to me, do you?”

Mariner did not understand him and was growing more agitated by the minute. “How is it even so that you are here? You are a dream, not a man.”

At this, Solas seemed genuinely impressed. “You have no idea just how perceptive you are, vhenan.”

Mariner shifted nervously. “Why do you call me that? I am not known to you nor you to me.” 

“And yet, I dream of you always. I am dreaming of you now; can you not see? But I am also waking…and still you are here.”

“You speak in riddles. I don’t understand who you are or why you’re here now. Or why you…why you…” He couldn’t finish the question. “I can only conclude that this must be a vision and that I am entangled in the Fade again somehow. Seems to happen more and more often now, anyways. But where you stand there was a wolf before. In fact, there always has been. Is that what you are supposed to be? My wolf?”

“Your wolf?” Solas tilted his head thoughtfully. “Is that what you see? Interesting. The butterflies show me rather something different. There was not an elf where you are standing now either. A moment ago, you were…” He trailed off and turned, glancing behind him at distant sounds.

“Solas?” Mariner called back when the other did not respond, the uncertainty and apprehension hitching in his voice. Solas returned his attention to him with a wry but affectionate smile.

“Yes, vhenan?”

“Are…. are you real?”

“As real as I ought to be, I should think.”

“But if you are real, then how is it that I know your name? These are things one only knows in dreams.”

“Some things are only known in dreams, this is true. Such that I know you hide your name. Beneath this word ‘Mariner.’”

“As do you. Beneath ‘Solas.’” 

The other elf seemed oddly pleased with his rejoinder, in that he merely dipped his head in a curt sort of bow to acknowledge the pointed accusation. The noise of something ponderous crashing ungainly through the trees then distracted them both for a moment before Solas saw fit to ignore it again. 

“You needn’t be afraid, da’len. The scoundrel who was pursuing you is gone. The Fade did not see fit to grant him passage as it did for you.”

“Fit for passage? What are you talking about?”

“I only meant that he is already dead and will not be troubling you again.”

From his earliest memories in the caravan, Mariner had sought to understand his strange and bizarrely realistic dreams. Some of the elder _asha_ of his caravan had once told him that it was common for _ashvani_ to have visions and to be visited by Fade spirits, but this was something altogether different. He felt as if he had somehow passed bodily beyond the Veil and had walked into the Dreaming whole. Or, at the very least, that he might be pressed so completely up against it that reality was blurred between the substantial and the immaterial. But that didn’t explain this unusual elf in his midst nor the things he said, which were comprehensible and yet made no sense.

“I have to leave!” Mariner exclaimed suddenly. “I must return to the road and get to the city. I have friends, family who are dear to me, and they are in terrible danger. I cannot abandon them and I certainly cannot allow myself to be…lead astray by apparitions now. I’m sorry, but I’ve been drawn away before and everyone else has suffered in my absence. May I thank you for pointing me back in the way of the water or of my traveling companions?”

With slow, careful, steps, Solas approached the high point of the fallen timber, resting his staff against one of the knots before reaching both hands up in a posture that clearly indicated he meant to help the smaller elf down from his perch. But Mariner was hesitant. Every part of him felt deeply that this _ash_ was familiar; his presence safe and comforting, like the melody of a childhood sleepsong, but he also knew that could not possibly be true. There was something sinister just below the surface of all that he could perceive, even if it did not seem specifically directed at him. After a moment of indecision, he reached down to take Solas’ hands so that he could slide off the side of the tree trunk and down to the ground. As he landed, Mariner half expected the other to take him into his arms completely but instead, once assured that the _ashvani_ was solidly on his feet, he took a step back.

“I know you must go. It is alright. My time to hunt has not yet come and you are not yet ready to take flight. But you don’t really need me to tell you which way to go, of course. The butterflies will lead you home, just as they always have.”

“The butterflies lead me to you.” He shot back, still unsure as to what he should expect from this…what was he? A demon in disguise? A Fade spirit? A problematically over-active imagination combined with the adrenaline of a near-death experience?

“Yes.” Solas again agreed. Another sound of snapping twigs and brambles crushed underfoot alerted the two elves that another approached.

“You cannot lead me out then?”

“I would.” Solas smiled, taking a brief moment to brush his thumb across Mariner’s cheek. “But, right now, I’m afraid you must be off a different way. Another wolf is hunting you.”

Mariner heard something shattering in the woods, followed by a series of loud curses in rapid Tevene. 

“Fenris!”

********  
“I hate the woods.” Fenris paused, picking cockleburs from his leggings with a dramatic flourish.

“He must have gone this way.” Hawke motioned towards a game trail. It was slightly muddy, with freshly broken undergrowth indicating the recent passage of someone… or something. 

Fenris sighed heavily and irritably shuffled through the undergrowth to where Hawke had indicated. “I certainly hope so. Something out here is starting to make me itch.”

They continued on that way for quite some distance; taking each twist and turn of the path with an eye towards poison ivy or sumac, or whatever it was that was starting to give Fenris a rash. In fact, the mage could even see some of the redness and swelling on the palms of his hands as they reached up to push aside low-hanging branches.

“Once we find Mariner, let’s stop for the night up at Highstand.” Hawke suggested conversationally. “There’s a tavern there with a pretty good reputation. Clean bed and a bath, at least.”

“Probably a good call.” Fenris grumbled in response. “After today, I could use a break from sand, grass stains, and blood. Now I have to clean everything before it rusts.”

Hawke just smiled, watching Fenris closely out of the corner of his eye.

“And….” Fenris looked at him askance with slight scowl. “…you’re already planning something untoward, aren’t you?”

“What? No!” Hawke protested with an air of feigned innocence. “I was actually just picturing you naked in a bathtub. That’s all.”

“Seriously, Hawke?”

“What? I can’t help it. You’re beautiful and I love you. Wanting you all the time sort of goes with the territory.”

Fenris harrumphed, flicking a beetle off of his sleeve and watching it disappear in a perfect arc through the trees.

Somewhat misreading his lover’s response, Hawke tapped his foot awkwardly. “You know, Fen, you could always just say no. If you didn’t want to.”

“I know.” Came the unconcerned reply. 

Hawke stopped and turned. With Fenris only a few feet behind him, the action immediately brought them nearly nose to nose. The mage eyed his companion intently; sure that he could tease out even the slightest bit of fear or malcontent if that was indeed what Fenris was feeling. But the elf merely stared back at him with a look of mild indignation as he scratched his hands against his tunic. 

“Fen, I’ve never asked you about your time as a slave and I’m never going to but…”

“You want to have this conversation right now? Here?” Fenris interjected.

Hawke returned with an exasperated sigh. “I just wanted to say that, I don’t ever want you to feel obligated that you have to…do anything. Just being with you…it’s enough. I know I can come across as insatiable at times and maybe you don’t feel the need like that as often…”

Hawke was babbling again. It was something he had a tendency to do when the topic of conversation was especially uncomfortable for him but Fenris was quickly catching on to the fact that Hawke was worried that his desires, or at least the consistent expression of them, might be too reminiscent of the demands of Fenris’ former human master for comfort. That, though Fenris was outwardly consenting to their relationship, he might not truly feel free to accept or reject an advance out of a misplaced sense of debt, or worse, requirement. Furthermore, for Hawke to be blurting it all out now also made Fenris realize that it was something his lover had been carrying on his mind for some time now.

“Hawke?”

“…because it’s really OK to not want to…”

“Hawke?”

“…you could even…. what?”

“Do you trust me?”

Hawke stared back at Fenris, his face contorting into a look of confusion. “Yes. Of course, I do? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Then can you trust me that I will tell you if, for whatever reason, I am not interested? Can you believe me telling you ‘yes’ just as much as you’d believe me if I told you ‘no’?”

“I…” Hawke blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Good.” With a step, the elf came up to press his chest against the mage and wrap his arms up over his shoulders as he felt Hawke reflexively grasp his hip to pull him closer. “Please don’t take my…ill manner, for anything other than what it always is: evidence of my terrible personality. I do want you, Liam. I just…don’t show it as well as you do.”

The kiss that followed was gentle and tender. Hawke took his time in exploring his lover’s mouth for over a minute before breaking away with what Fenris would later remember as a devastating smile. If nothing else, he truly enjoyed seeing Hawke happy and was more than willing to reassure him if that’s what was preventing it. 

“Ok.” The mage announced. “Let’s keep going.”

Fenris nodded and straightened his coat, still trying to avoid the irritated patches of skin on his hands as he did so. “I imagine we’ll need to break off the trail sooner or later. If Mariner was following the game paths, he would have needed to turn here and take…”

Fenris had taken three steps and vanished. Literally. In an explosion of dirt and leaves, he had inadvertently tipped right off of an embankment hidden in the undergrowth and was now sliding down a muddy, mossy, hill at a breakneck speed. Hawke only had a moment to register the loud shout of surprise before rushing forward to peer over the edge, down a shockingly steep slope, to the bottom of the glen where Fenris was now rolling to a stop to the accompaniment of a slew of colorful curse words in extremely vulgar Tevene.

“Fenris! Are you alright?”

When the world finally stopped spinning, the elf took a slow, pained, breath before gingerly sitting up and taking stock of himself. He didn’t register any broken bones nor had he managed to impale himself on any of the sticks or branches on the way down, which was a good sign. He was, however, covered in mud; his hair plastered to his face and with clots of sopping wet moss stuffed into every conceivable seam and buttonhole from his neck to his feet. If he hadn’t wanted that bath before, he certainly did now.

When he then also realized that it was Mariner, and not a short tree, who was inexplicably standing just a few meters away from him (because, of course he was), looking equally shocked that Fenris has suddenly come tumbling down the hill and crash-landed at his feet, he didn’t even manage a semblance of a pleasant greeting.

“I…hate…the woods.”


	7. Controlled Chaos

**Chapter 7 – Controlled Chaos**

Fenris, ragged and weary from the past several days, simply had no fight left in him. If he drowned, here and now, it would be perfectly alright. He would go in peace. And what peace it was…

The bathhouse adjacent to the Highstand inn was one of the finest Fenris had ever seen. Which, for him, was saying quite a bit. Both Danarius, and the Tevinter Imperium in general, had long been rather keen on luxurious bathhouses and even as a slave, he’d spent a fair amount of time in them either attending to his master or enjoying his own moment of respite while the elite relaxed. This particular building was not as ostentatious as those in Tevinter, however. It did not sport elaborate mosaics or gilt frescoes, nor did it have the expertly-carved granite columns and steps typical of this kind of architecture. Rather, it was a simple affair of wood and brass; minimalist in its presentation but with a combination of fragrant wood, hot spring water, and steam that made the experience a little slice of heaven.

A splash and a groan from the far end of the bath alerted Fenris to Hawke’s arrival; a sound he knew well enough by now such that he didn’t even bother opening his eyes to make sure it was lover and not someone else. Mariner had also already declined their invitation to join in, citing a need to get some sleep before retiring to his room early following the evening meal.

Hawke and Fenris thus passed their first few minutes in silence. Each resting with their backs against the high walls of the basin, heads canted to the side as the heat and moisture worked out the tensions of the day.

“So, I was thinking.” Hawke murmured conversationally. “When we get there, we should start at the Crown and Lion. I mean, I get that the obvious place to check out would be the Smuggler’s Cove again but I’m willing to bet that we’d get a better sense of things from the innkeepers, or maybe even Sorcha, if she still works there.”

“Hm.” Was the only acknowledgement from his companion.

“I just wish I had a better sense of what to expect, you know?”

Fenris sighed and lazily opened his eyes just enough to spy Hawke’s form lounging across from him. “You can expect a lot of secrecy, a fair amount of hostility, and probably no small measure depravity. But hopefully the news of someone selling Serenic slaves will be so…exciting…that we’ll have no trouble locating the _ashvani._”

“Yeah.” Hawke agreed. “I’m worried about Mariner, though. If word gets out, who’s to say the Templars won’t come looking for him. Or the Chantry even, for that matter.”

“We’ll have to keep our presence quiet, as much as we can. It might not also be a bad idea to look into getting him some kind of disguise.”

Hawke chuckled. “Sure. But what would we dress him up as? I mean, it’s pretty obvious that he’s not, you know, a normal elf.”

“He’s a normal elf, Hawke.”

“You know what I mean.”

Fenris actually smiled. He did know what Hawke meant but it was an amusing jab all the same. Unfortunately, however, Hawke was also correct in his assessment that Mariner was somewhat unusual in appearance, or at least, in the kind of appearance that most people tended to expect from city elves. With his long, auburn-white, locks and Elusivir coat, it was hard not to notice that he didn’t exactly blend in to a crowd even if the observer was not otherwise aware of what the _ashvani_ were. 

“Do you think he’d agree to go as a woman?”

“You mean an _asha_? As in, get him a dress and some hairpins, or something?”

“Yeah.”

It was an interesting proposition but Fenris was unsure. “I don’t know, Hawke. That might actually just make it worse. But we can ask him in the morning.”

As a comfortable silence once again fell between them, Fenris felt himself begin to drift off, calmed by the scented water and his lover’s protective presence.

********

Mariner sat at the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall as he gently combed the last few tangles out of his hair. The invitation to the bathhouse had been kind, but he felt it better that he be alone for a while longer. Unbeknownst to his companions, he was entirely preoccupied by the events of the last few days; finding his mind completely engrossed in puzzling out his recent experiences in the Fade. With…_him_.

Was Solas real or imagined? Perhaps a little of both? But then, who was he exactly? And where was he? Why had he suddenly appeared now in place of the wolf he’d seen all his life? What had he meant by “hunt”?

If Mariner was being honest with himself, he had half a mind to get to sleep immediately and see if he could conjure up another vision but he was also apprehensive. If this strange elf was, indeed, some kind of malevolent spirit, he might be putting himself in even greater danger on the very eve of crashing the slave markets of Amaranthine. He needed to focus. The comb clattering to the floor startled him.

He’d been in a near trance it seemed: so caught up in his thoughts that he’d failed to notice his hands falling into his lap and his fingers loosening their grip so much that he’d dropped everything he was holding. Mariner took a breath, held it, and released it in an effort to relax his shoulders. He was almost regretting turning down that bath but, in the end, he thought it better that Hawke and Fenris have whatever time together they could still manage. Mariner felt he’d been enough of a burden for one day.

With a snort, the young elf flopped backwards onto the bed and grumbled. He felt so deeply conflicted. A part of him wanted nothing more than to search Solas out and then interrogate the enigmatic elf until he gave up the truth of their entanglements; while another part of him longed to spend the night in his arms, facing him and seeing him this time, as they explored their relationship in other ways. But above all that, he wanted to know what this all had to do with the wolf, the snowy mountain high in the reaches, and the butterflies.

He crossed his arms and glared uselessly at the ceiling. It was going to be another frustrating night.

********

Fenris had no idea how long he had been napping but when he awoke, he was slightly surprised to hear the familiar sounds of pleasure. Without moving and therefore alerting his companion, Fenris cracked his eyes just enough to observe Hawke clearly in the midst of taking care of his own needs. The mage had, at some point, found the ledge of the bath and settled onto it, reclining in a comfortable position turned partially away from the elf. The blessedly still-hot water came up to his waist, with his considerable erection rising just above it. Fenris couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through him as he heard Hawke sigh and give in at last; wrapping his hand around his own shaft and stroking gently. He moaned softly then, as he tried to keep his pace slow.

In short order, Fenris realized that Hawke was trying not to wake him; that he was intent only on giving himself a bit of comfort but not in taking his need to the other. The elf then recalled their conversation from earlier and clenched his jaw as he began to figure that Hawke was still under the impression, somewhere deep in his mind, that their intimacy was, in one way or another, an imposition on Fenris. He felt his heart stutter at the thought. In truth, he rather liked that Hawke came to him in the ways that he did; that he was often thinking of him intimately. He felt wanted, desired, even needed, every time that the mage reached for him. It reminded him that, out of all the people in the world Hawke might have chosen, it was he that shared in their affections, and no others. Now, it occurred to him, Hawke might be requiring something similar.

Fenris took in the sight. Face flushed, broad shoulders hunched, hair falling into his eyes, hand firmly wrapped around his weeping arousal - the vision was beautiful. Quietly and very slowly, Fenris began to sit up and move across the water. It wouldn't do to interrupt his lover and have him stop his ministrations before he meant for him to. 

Hawke let his head fall back and his spine begin to arch as the tension started to build. He squeezed tighter, varying the rhythm, finding what felt best. His mouth dropped open and his eyes closed as he started to thrust up into his own hand in what finally felt like the perfect pace. "Oh, gods, Fen..." He immediately bit his lip to quiet himself. Fenris had dozed off several minutes ago and he didn’t want to disturb him. Hawke had already decided that he wasn’t going to bother his lover tonight, or intrude upon him when he so clearly needed the rest. But the sight of the elf naked and wet in the steamed-up room had proven to be too much for his libidinous mind to ignore. And so here he was, feverishly stroking himself in the bath while trying not to give too much voice to his pleasure. 

The soft declaration made Fenris smile. The elf had never really thought of himself as a potential focus for someone else’s own personal fantasies but here was his lover, obviously pleasuring himself to images of him. It both thrilled and excited him. Even as he moved a little closer, he let the sights and sounds of the mage’s arousal entice him as he decided on exactly how he wanted this to go further.

Hawke continued his light, easy, strokes; letting his memories of Fenris’ touch tantalize him, thinking about the beautiful curves and hollows of his body and how much he even liked the patterning of the lyrium lines that covered him. Hawke knew each and every one of them, having traced their outlines with hands and lips many times. He longed to see the elf more at ease with the brands; comfortable in his own skin for once. But even more so, he longed for his touch again. But he didn’t want to wake him again either. The mage stifled a gasp with a hitched breath and grimaced as he began to approach the edge. 

Moving up next to the mage, Fenris’ hand reached down as he let his fingertips brush over the tip of his lover’s erection, "Do you want me to help you with that?" His voice was low, husky, and filled with desire. 

Hawke nearly convulsed in shock as he looked down and into Fenris’ bright eyes, his upper body slowly rising up out of the water as he leaned against the rim of the bath. Hawke stilled his hand; he was almost to the point of inevitability but he was also desperate for the elf to touch him. "Please..." he moaned, wishing he didn't sound quite as needy as he thought he did.

Lips grazed the side of Hawke’s neck; leaving a burning trail up to his ear, "How rude of you to start without me." Fenris’ fingers continued to stroke the tip of his lover’s manhood. 

"I didn’t want to wake you." Hawke whispered in return, dropping his own hand and pressing up for more of the elf's touch. "I figured I’d just…take care of it." 

Fenris rose up fully to take Hawke’s lips; surging in for a deep kiss. He then set about to plunder the mage’s mouth, reveling in the sweet, minty, taste. He moaned harshly and brought his other arm up to grasp the back of his lover’s head so that he might better keep him in place. 

Hawke finally reached up and wrapped his arms around Fenris’ torso, pulling him in as he swept his palms down his shoulders and over his backside. He was ready to feel that smooth skin under his hands and to sift his fingers through damp, silky, hair. 

“And how was that going?” Fenris asked mildly, nipping along Hawke’s bottom lip.

The mage smiled. He loved it when Fenris was playful with him. The elf only ever seemed to be in such light-hearted spirits seldomly and he had the feeling that, once they were in the thick of things in Amaranthine, he wouldn’t be in this kind of mood again for a while. 

“Swimmingly.” He replied. It was a terrible joke but it also was, unfortunately, the first one that had come to mind. Thankfully, Fenris appeared to be getting used to the worst expressions of Hawke’s sense of humor and ignored the eye-rolling pun in favor of continuing to caress his lover and bite at his jaw and ear.

“I see. So, you’d rather I stop then and just…leave you to splash about?”

Hawke sputtered slightly and groaned as Fenris picked up a bit of speed. “I know you can be prickly now and then, but I never thought of you as cruel.” He teased back.

“Hm.” Was the characteristic reply.

Hawke was about to say something else; to casually jest about the compromising, semi-public, positions they were currently both in or about how they’d missed out on so much of the fun that could have been had in the ocean if he’d only known how Fenris felt about water when the elf suddenly brought his head down and took his lover into his mouth.  
The mage’s head immediately fell back, one leg dangling in the water while the other came up to rest on the ledge. Hawke let his hands slide into Fenris’ soft hair, "Oh, for the love of all that is holy, yes." His encouragement was breathless and hoarse but the verbal tumult made Fenris smile. The more excited his lover got, the more verbose he usually became. 

Happy to be causing the other man such pleasure, Fenris drew himself farther out of the water so that he might pull the hard length further into his mouth. He then started to bob his head, his ears perking at the moans he heard as a result. With one hand, he gripped the mage’s hip, effectively stilling him from attempting to thrust while he did this. It was a tactic he’d actually learned from Hawke, who was in the habit of doing this very same thing to him so as to control his reflexive movements as his pleasure peaked. With his other hand he began to explore the flat planes of Hawke’s stomach and thigh. 

The hand in Fenris’ hair tightened, gripping at the roots with surprising force. But then, Hawke did something he’d never done before; he began to stroke Fenris’ ears. The elf wasn’t sure how to react at first. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation but it was extremely foreign to him. Generally, considered to be an intimate act between elven lovers, most humans were either too self-conscious to try it or were unaware of how it felt to an elf and therefore never attempted it. He found it to be a little too tantalizing, however. Almost tickling in the way that it made him restless.

Hawke’s legs quivered as his release approached; the mage beginning to stutter as the other kept up his steady, demanding, pace. 

"Fen…I’m…. Oh, fuck, I’m…!" But then his head flew back as he erupted, spilling himself rather messily into his lover’s mouth. Fenris swallowed without hesitation. The bitter salt of his lover burned his throat but he didn’t mind it in the least. The sound of Hawke's release was a treat he was beginning to crave and this act was something he rather enjoyed doing for him; almost as much as he enjoyed having it returned.

Fenris was roughly pulled up and kissed thoroughly, Hawke’s hands roaming the smooth contours of his body with water-slicked abandon. After several breathless minutes, Hawke broke the kiss, "That was…amazing." He moved off of the ledge and sank down into the bath with the elf still held tightly in his arms, "But now it’s my turn." With that, the mage’s hungry mouth attacked Fenris’ chest and throat. With a fleeting but contented smile, Fenris went willingly, holding Hawke’s face to his body with emphatic pressure. He ached for more contact and his own neglected arousal began to pulse insistently. He buried his hands in the short, dark, hair as one of Hawke’s hands found him and gripped him firmly. 

"Like this?" 

Fenris growled; his lover’s touch sending needles of passion throughout his body. "Yes, please..." he gasped. 

His other hand ran over the elf’s face and mouth, feeling the softness of his wet skin, before he sat down into the bath and pulled Fenris completely into his lap so that he might keep both hands free to pleasure his lover. As he did so, Fenris captured one of his fingers in his mouth and sucked on it. Hawke was actually a little startled at this. The elf was passionate by nature, but was rarely so openly sensual that seeing the other actively losing himself to their love-making like he was now was already setting Hawke on edge again.  
With an endearingly cute rasp of happiness, Hawke worked at the straining arousal in his palm, while his other hand slid easily down Fenris’ back to cup his muscled hind-side. When the mage felt his lover offer a reactive thrust in response, he slipped a finger inside of the small opening there and began the task of loosening and stretching him. 

Almost instinctively, Fenris began to relax, throwing his arms over the mage’s shoulders to anchor himself. In that moment, Hawke marveled at how far they had come from the beginning; so many years ago now when he had first lain with the elf at his mansion in Kirkwall. He had not forgotten the pained expression and the fearful responses that had accompanied the first time he’d taken Fenris. Nor had he forgotten the sad, distressed, expression he’d had when he’d left shortly afterwards. But now, here was his lover, his love, resting comfortably while straddling his thighs as he gently prepared him for entry. Fenris’ face held no hint of shame or panic, no tense scowl of apprehension or twitch of dread. Rather, he simply dropped his forehead to lean against Hawke’s neck as warm, panted, breaths joined the condensation already dripping down his chest and back into the water.

For a brief second, Hawke thought he might cry. Fenris was not the type of person easily given to trust, even in situations where he was otherwise safe and sheltered. And yet, here he was; eyes closed, mouth slack, and body receptive. The mage even thought he might say something to that effect before he was completely distracted when Fenris began to writhe against him, wordlessly asking for more than what his lover was currently giving him.   
But Hawke had something of a plan and pressed harder and deeper, seeking out the place inside Fenris that sent sparks across his vision and loosened his tongue along with his body. 

"Liam!" Fenris cried out suddenly, bucking hard against the mage’s hand. 

"Yes," Hawke purred softly, adding a second finger to increase the pressure, "Talk to me, Fen. Tell me how it feels." 

Fenris whined and bit his lip but he didn't have a choice; the mage knew exactly what he was doing and it was playing hell with the elf’s coherence. He held onto Hawke's strong shoulders and rode the waves of pleasure.

“Good. It feels…. good. I never…thought it…could. But now, it makes me want you. All of you.”

At last, a third finger penetrated and joined the first two. Hawke continued to stroke the small bump within, listening for each little sound his excited lover made. He was equally thankful, in that moment, for the oiled bathwater, which made Fenris’ entire body delightfully slick and buoyed him up on the mage’s lap such that neither of them had to expend a tremendous amount of energy in order to maintain their connection. 

It didn't take long for the elf to grow accustomed to having his body filled and for Hawke’s fingers to move easily inside of him. The mage smiled as Fenris shifted with needy anticipation. And it was none too soon; he’d grown hard again and was ready for the next part to begin. 

"Please," Fenris moaned, biting at Hawke’s ear a little too sharply, "Take me..." His whole body ached; worse than if he’d simply over-exerted himself in a fight and his lover’s careful, patient, preparations were testing his limits. 

Pulling back, Hawke gathered Fenris into his arms, lifting him slightly so that the elf could bring his knees up and brace them onto the submerged bench below them. When Fenris gave an insistent nip to the side of his neck, Hawke growled lowly and grasped his hips so as to settle him into the cradle of his lap.  
Carefully, Hawke then pressed his tip to the ready opening and gave a slight push. Even with preparation and the oiled water as lubrication, he felt his lover tense just the slightest. The mage paused, but when Fenris gave no protest and once again relaxed into his embrace, he increased the pressure.  
After a second, Fenris’ body finally gave to allow the head of his lover’s ready cock entrance and Hawke moaned at how it was already starting to feel. The tight heat that was always true of Fenris caressed his length as he slowly slid into his lover.

With a low gasp, Hawke embedded himself fully into the elf and stopped moving so that the other could get his bearings for a moment. His blue eyes sought out the golden gaze of the other, who leaned back and looked down at him with a strange kind of confidence. Unexpectedly, Fenris’ expression caused Hawke’s heart to ache. The way that he was looking at him, the way that he seemed to tilt his head in affectionate curiosity. Hawke may have been deep inside his body, but Fenris was claiming his heart.   
Hawke pulled his hips back and gave a gentle nudge forward, testing his lover. 

The elf’s head snapped back when his lover thrust into him. Pleasure that rode the edge of pain drove all else from his thoughts. His cock lay against his stomach, rock hard and aching, as he felt Hawke move deep inside him.

The mage nuzzled the slender neck and gave a few licks to the sweating skin. Seeing Fenris accept his pleasure had always had profound effects on him, and this encounter would be no different. But they’d never made love in the bath before, and Hawke was struggling slightly to maintain their balance as he gave another thrust. It wasn’t as hard or as nearly as deep as he wanted it to be, but whenever he moved it felt as though the waves generated by their coupling would threaten to unseat his lover and steal him away.

So, Hawke did the next best thing he could think of. He turned them both around so that he was still kneeling on the bench but Fenris would be pinned between the smooth wall of the tub basin and Hawke’s body. Rather unexpectedly, Fenris assisted in this new position by releasing his hold on Hawke’s shoulders and splaying both of his hands out to his sides to grasp the edge of the bath, even using the leverage to raise himself up slightly and give him lover room to maneuver. With the elf so steadied, the mage began to drive into him in earnest, feeling his normally staunch control slipping away with each little cry of pleasure he managed to coax from Fenris’ mouth. His hands moved up from his lover’s hips and into the strands of his hair; using his grip to pull the elf’s lips down to his own with a shuddering groan. 

Fenris opened his mouth willingly, giving the mage his tongue along with his body. The sounds of pleasure Hawke was making drove him higher, mixing with the sauna-like heat to render him almost delirious. The hard length within him stroked and filled him perfectly. At last, he couldn’t remember the feel of anyone but Hawke, nor the taste of anyone but his lover. He knew only the pleasure freely given in the mage’s arms and what it felt like to be taken only by the one he had chosen, and the one who had chosen him in return.

Strong fingers moved down once again to grasp Fenris hips, holding them steady as the thrusts increased in intensity. Hawke lifted his head, gazing into the amber eyes, as he joyfully lost himself in his lover’s unflinching countenance. He moaned again as Fenris wrapped a leg around his back, trying to drive him deeper.  
Hawke began to place panting, open-mouthed, kisses across Fenris’ collarbone and onto his chest. He was riding the precipice of completion; feeling it stalking up on him and drawing closer and closer as he continued to drag his lover down onto his thrusts. He both welcomed it and cursed it. He desperately wanted the sweet bliss of release but he also didn’t want this moment to end. 

But, alas, he could only keep them afloat for so long. Hawke growled harshly as he slammed in even harder and deeper, now using the rhythm of the water to crash his body against the elf’s in a powerful tempo. He was almost there... Almost to that crucial breaking point that would be his undoing. Again, he kissed Fenris, realizing he was unsure as to how close, or not, his lover also was to his end. Without warning, his hand stole to Fenris’ length and massaged it roughly. 

"Cry out for me..." He bit into the elf’s neck; first lightly and then with greater force, marking him once more as he had only done one other time. 

It was apparently all Fenris needed as his entire body spasmed and he arched upwards against Hawke’s restraining weight. The scream that followed was completely incoherent and Hawke smiled triumphantly as he felt his lover given over to his climax; burning white-hot from him as he clenched and came in his hand and into the water surrounding them. As expected, his lyrium brands also blazed to life, igniting along his skin with pale blue sparks that momentarily illuminated the entire bathhouse with light like a full moon, unobscured through an open window. He was always beautiful like this.

But it was the scream that eradicated the last barrier between the mage and his own orgasm. Hawke gave two final thrusts into his lover and finally gave over his seed in long, agonizing, waves. A shout burst from his lips and he held onto Fenris tightly, still not wanting to let go of the moment nor of him. It was perfect. It was all perfect, and he rejoiced in losing himself in the other. Finally, the sensations faded back to become a sweet hum filling the room and Hawke’s grip loosened enough that he could rest against the form beneath him.

As Fenris slowly began to catch his breath, Hawke could feel his fingers sifting gently through his hair.

“I love you.” The mage whispered breathlessly into the elf’s neck, taking note of the purpling skin just aside from his shoulder. He had, indeed, marked him again.

There was silence for moment as Fenris continued to lightly scratch at Hawke’s scalp, before he brought his mouth down to press at the shell of the other’s outer ear.

“I love you too, Liam.”


	8. In a Kingdom By the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've come to Amaranthine at last! But what troubles will we encounter here?

**Chapter 8 – In A Kingdom By the Sea**

The City of Amaranthine, former Capital of Ferelden, jewel on the Coast of the Waking Sea, Holy Seat of Andraste herself. It was, in Mariner’s reckoning…terrible. He hated the constant, low-hanging, smoke and fog, looming and oppressive battlements, and the crowded bustle of traders (and the traded) clogging the streets at all hours of the day. The entire citadel, in his opinion, had the look of a madman’s fever dream right after he’d run out of money gambling on a fish barrel. Stone and dirt, wood scaffolding on granite blocks, boat themes everywhere, and terrace after terrace of short, squat, ugly, houses filling a space that was clearly never meant to be actively lived in. At least, not by people.

“This?!” He exclaimed as Hawke idly chatted with a pair of armored guards near the main portcullis on where he might stable one particularly ornery grey horse. “This is Amaranthine?”

Fenris paused next to him. “I’m afraid so. Looks like it hasn’t changed at all.”

The younger elf huffed irritably. 

“You were expecting something…. grander?” Fenris replied, his tone cracking with light amusement.

“I don’t know what I was expecting but it was…” Mariner gestured vaguely about the plaza. “…not this.”

“It’s the fish smell. Rots your brain eventually. It’s not so bad once you get used to it, though.” Hawke rejoined his companions with a sigh.

“We’ll see.” The _ashvani_ grumbled.

Fenris smiled and nudged Hawke imperceptibly, as he was now in the habit of doing in his own way of showing the mage public affection. Hawke suppressed a smirk and bumped him back.

“So.” The elder elf began. “Where do we start?”

“Crown and Lion.” Hawke immediately answered. “Let’s see what the word is.”

********

The Crown and Lion inn and pub did not significantly improve Mariner’s overall opinion. It was a busy tavern filled with all manner of people from fishermen to highwaymen, and every discernable permutation between them. A few prostitutes plied their trade at the tables of drunk men and their card games but most of the patrons seemed generally happy to eat, drink, and carry on loud conversations that echoed across the expansive main hall to become a muddled din of noise and activity.

Wordlessly, Hawke pointed out a nearby empty table and ensured that the two elves would be seated across from him with their backs towards the wall. No one yet seemed to have taken much notice of their arrival and the mage wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. 

“Wait here.” He half-shouted across the table. “I’m going to see if Sorcha is around.”

Fenris nodded and leaned back, watching as Mariner struggled to get comfortable with the chaos.

“If I didn’t know better,” He began. “I’d say that this was the first time you’ve ever even been to a tavern.”

Mariner gave him a side-long scowl. “This is not my first time in a bar.” He replied. “I just wasn’t expecting it to be so…loud.”

“I take it that the Elusivir don’t get into the cities much?”

“We prefer not to. Cities are dangerous and it’s too easy to run into trouble. Besides, most town guards don’t allow caravans inside. Streets are too narrow and no one wants to deal with a bunch of elves offering trade on local merchant’s territory. So even if we do come into the area, we stay to the outskirts where they don’t usually try to arrest us.”

“I saw one of your caravans once when I was living in Tevinter. Pretty spectacular, actually. All those carved wagons and banners and whatnot. For a while there, I thought we were getting a carnival.”

Mariner chuckled. His people had a reputation for colorful clothing and dancing, which often got them mixed up with traveling actor troupes or wandering musicians. But a carnival was something they definitely were not; all stereotypes aside.

Up at the bar, unfortunately, Hawke wasn’t having much luck.

“I’m telling you, mate. She’s not here. Don’t know what else I can do for you.”

The bartender was a portly man in his mid-fifties at least, with a shiny bald pate and a beard that would have made a dwarf sob in envy (and considering that the previous bartender they’d encountered was a dwarf, that was saying something). He stood by, dressed in the typical brown apron and linen shirt that most innkeepers tended to wear on duty, scrubbing at mugs and spigots until someone down the bar called for a refill with a few jangling coins spinning on the wood-top. 

“Well, maybe you can answer a question for me.” Hawke’s charm was on full, for all the good it was doing him. “I’m looking for some traders who probably came into port several days ago now. They sailed from the north, enroute to the Imperium. They had some elves with them; really unique, sort of high-quality, ones.”

The bartender furrowed his brow at the burly mage leaning near his keg-stand. “Can’t say anyone comes to mind right off. Something wrong with the two you got?”

Hawke paused, tilting his chin with some concern. “I’m…sorry?”

“Something wrong with the two you got?” The bartender repeated, picking up a giant clay pint-glass to clean. “Most people already showing off a couple of good-looking slaves don’t usually come around here looking for more. Unless unusual elves are a thing you got going?”

Hawke sighed heavily, not even bothering to glance back at Fenris and Mariner, who were, without a doubt, now the subjects of this conversation.

“They’re not slaves, they’re my friends.” Hawke deadpanned. “I don’t own them and I’m not looking to buy. Raiders came through here with some elves that don’t belong to them and I’d like to know where they went.”

“Ah.” Was the reply. “Looking to liberate some cargo then, are you?”

Hawke honestly wasn’t sure what this guy’s issue was. Was he in favor of the elven slave trade? Opposed? Indifferent? Was this some kind of test?

“Tell you what.” He continued. “You buy yourself and your…friends…a couple of rounds and maybe I’ll see if there is someone who can talk to you. How’s that?”

‘Good enough.’ Hawke thought, though his only actual response was to place a small stack of coins on the counter in front of the bartender before walking back to his companions with a stiff gait.

“How’d that go?” Fenris piped up as Hawke dropped into the chair next to him.

“I guess we’ll see. Hope you both like malt ale.”

Thankfully, Mariner did, in fact, enjoy an ale that had a bit of chew to it. It was not unlike the winter stouts his own people commonly casked and traveled with. It wasn’t so much that it had a good taste (it didn’t), but it was handy for keeping warm on a long trek. Fenris had also grown used to them over the past several years. The flavor, in his opinion, was more like a kind of sour mash and burnt tea-water but it got the job done in the end. Hawke had no overall opinion of it. It was simply what he thought of as card games tasting like.

The first round passed in relative silence. A woman with a painted face flirted around the margins of their table for several minutes before gauging their disinterest and moving on. Two young city elves entered the establishment, took a brief look at the patronage, and then left again. A few laborers drifted up and down the stairs from the rooms above. When the second round came, Hawke spied a folded scrap of paper tucked into one of the metal bands of Fenris’ cup. He plucked it out and then laid it on the table conspiratorially.

“So, I think the bartender might be open to helping us out.” He announced in a strained whisper as he unfolded the tiny roll. 

_Make a date with Senaht. He likes elves._ – It read.

“What the hell does that mean?” Hawke flustered.

Fenris sighed. “Probably the prostitute who’s been sitting at the bar staring at your back this entire time.”

“Wait, what? How do you know it’s a prostitute?”

“I don’t think elven men dress that way for any other reason.” He replied blandly.

“Oh my.” Mariner looked up from his mug and past Hawke’s head. “I guess it makes sense though. Considering what we’re doing here.”

Senaht, having been so identified, stood up from the barstool he’d been lounging on as soon as he noticed the eyes turned his way. Like most male elves, he was compact and slender, with a hint of pleasing curves and angular planes beneath a slightly-too-large-for-him tunic in blue, gold, and silver. The velveteen leggings he wore were also of fine quality, with wisp-like threads sewn into the sides to look as though the lacings went all the way to his knees. Both of his ears were pierced, and he wore what looked like small sapphire studs that peeked out from just behind loose, blond, locks falling to his shoulders.

As if it was the most normal thing in the world, Senaht crossed the hall and slid expertly into the empty chair between Hawke and Mariner; smiling coyly as he placed his elbows on the table edge and leaned his chin onto his hands with coquettish poise.

“I hear you three are looking for some company.” 

Hawke groaned aloud at the double-entendre but was otherwise happy to play along. “Yes. We’re even, you might say, in the market for something a little out of the ordinary.”

Fenris almost socked Hawke, if not for the fact that they needed the information. He was not overly opposed to sex workers in general, but Hawke had always had something of a provocative stance when it came to interacting with them even if he wasn’t actually soliciting their services. Now, it appeared that Hawke actually was just like that all the time and his come-hither tone with the shapely new elf in their midst was mildly disconcerting. Needless to say, accompanying him to the Blooming Rose back in Kirkwall had always been…aggravating, to say the least.

After a little teasing banter, Senaht then turned to Mariner, who regarded him with a tepid look. “Hey there, sweet one. This doesn’t really seem like your kind of…”

He stopped abruptly and leaned forward, seeming to take in a deep breath before curling his tongue onto the roof of his mouth. A moment passed before Senaht visibly tensed and hissed out, “You’re not _ashvani_, are you?”

“It’s alright.” Fenris interjected. “He’s with us.”

Senaht rounded on him with an entirely different tone and demeanor. “Get him out of here. Now. Get him out of this city and as far away from the coast as you can. You have no idea what kind of danger you are all in bringing him here.”

“That’s actually why we’re here.” Hawke dropped his voice and hid his words behind the rim of his cup. “There were three others like him that passed through the port-side not that long ago. Maybe a day or two but not much more. Do you know anything about them?”

Senaht glanced worriedly over towards the bar before finally regaining his composure and once again hiding his thoughts behind a flirtatious mask and a wry smile. He canted his head towards Hawke, as though they were in the process of whispering dirty things to one another or, conversely, agreeing on a price.

“Maybe I do.” He replied evasively. “Maybe I don’t. But seeing as you three don’t exactly look the types to be…in…to that kind of thing, am I to guess that you’re looking for them for somewhat less nefarious and more…magely… purposes?”

“In a way.” Fenris interrupted. “The _ashvani_ that were brought here were enslaved from the northern reaches. Their caravan was attacked and destroyed. They may be some of the only survivors.”

“Other than you, right?” Senaht rolled his head towards Mariner again. “That’s what this is about? Coming to get your family back?”

Mariner squirmed by answered directly. “Yes. Now, what do you want for your answer? That’s what all _this_ is about, right?”

Senaht smiled at him. “Sassy little snot, aren’t you?” Mariner narrowed his eyes but the other elf continued regardless. “Look, making a living is making a living. Especially out here. But what goes on with the _ashvani_ isn’t just your day to day vile wickedness. Slavers come through Amaranthine all the time and, yeah, slavery is illegal in the city but, let me tell you, no one fucking cares about it. Elves get snatched out of the alienage all the time and the guards just shrug and move on. But if you ask me, the _ashvani_ are just better off dead for the lot they get.”

Mariner bristled. “I have no interest in dying, and neither do Lyric, Alcuin, or Aurvandil.” 

“Yeah.” Senaht suddenly nodded. “Lyric. I remember that one. Tall, right? Black hair, blue eyes, really pretty?”

“You have seen them then?!”

The blond elf sighed. “Fine! Yes. They arrived here three days ago on a smuggler ship called The Blind Fortune. I only know about it because sometimes the noble families hire out for parties, if you get my drift, and a lot of the professional companions in this area have been approached about working some kind of upcoming grand exposé. A little extra probing around the servant houses and it turns out that this Orlesian guy, Gallio Ravenica, has been talking about his upcoming soiree and his…recent purchases.”

“They’re together then?” Mariner pressed.

“Seems so.” Senaht shrugged. “I only saw two of them though. A group of Orlesian guards were escorting them through the market square on the way to some of the higher estates off the Pilgrim Road a couple of nights ago. And didn’t that cause a ruckus, let me tell you. But if you think you’re going to blunder in there and crash the party, I’d highly advise you to think again. Ravenica has something pretty close to his own personal army and he’s very…very…highly regarded from Orlais to Tevinter. It’s not surprising that his tastes should also run into the exotic, expensive, and exploitative.”

“How did they look?” Fenris queried. “Have they been hurt, as far as you could tell?”

“Well, they didn’t look happy, I can tell you that.” Senaht replied icily. “But I highly doubt that an Imperial master would be inclined to cause damage to an _ashvani_ slave. That would hurt the…product.”

“So, they are making Serenic.” Hawke concluded.

Senaht hissed and cut him off. “Do not use that word around here. Not if you value your life and the lives of your friends. A mage sniffing around the edges of elite society asking after _ashvani_ is bad enough. Talking about…that…is just going to get you all killed.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Hawke remained unperturbed by the threat.

“If you’re insistent on this, there’s a dwarf you can talk to. Varric Tethras.”

Hawke quite nearly fell off his chair. “Varric is here?! Where?”

Senaht casually brushed a curl of blond hair behind his ear with a haughty sniff. “The Merchant’s Guild has recently secured his services in negotiating bard contracts. Apparently, he has some skill in this area and he’s also pretty well in with the high houses, I’m told. Friend of yours?”

“You might say that.” Fenris replied with a slight smile. 

“In that case, you can find him in the merchant’s quarter opposite the Chantry. He usually keeps to the upper levels of the guild house but if you ask around, I’m sure you’ll have no problems locating him.”

Hawke was nearly beside himself with glee at hearing that Varric was in town. He just knew that if there was anything underhanded going on out of sight of the law, Varric would know all about it. Senaht seemed unconvinced of their altruism, however.

“If I may ask…” He started, almost hesitantly. “What exactly is your business with all of this?”

“Is it so hard to believe that we’re simple here to free three slaves unjustly taken from their homes?” Hawke retorted.

“Considering what you’re about the take on? A little, yes.”

“We’ve faced worse.” Fenris stated with a measure of resignation. “And there would otherwise be no way for Mariner to help them. Right now, it’s us, or nothing.”

“Well then,” Senaht regarded Mariner with a sympathetic look. “I hope whatever it is you’re paying them with, it’s a lot.”

“I…” The younger elf flustered.

“This isn’t about money.” Hawke finished. “It’s like you said. For the lot the _ashvani_ are given, it’s worse than death. We can’t simply leave them to their fate.”

Senaht eyed Hawke suspiciously. “And you, a mage, are truly going to claim that you have absolutely no interest in…sampling?”

Fenris bristled but Hawke carried on in his usual blasé manner. “I seem to have managed my entire life thus far alright without it. No reason I can’t continue to so. Either way, I’m not about to alienate literally everyone in my life who I care about for a head trip.”

Senaht then turned to regard Fenris. “I take it that means you. You’re going to keep your mage honest?”

“Hawke isn’t like that. He’s here for the same reasons Mariner and I are.”

“Hmph. Well, in that case, let me give you all a word of caution. Plenty of people around here would love to get in good with wealthier circles and so you might be surprised who would be willing to bury the two of you and take your cute friend here for themselves. He’d be on the auction block before you’re even cold.”

“Already happened.” Hawke smiled and shrugged. “Well, the first part, obviously not the second. But listen, I get it that you took a risk in talking to us. It’s been a great help, not just to us but for the _ashvani_ we’re trying to free. We’ll tell them that you were a friend.” But with that, Hawke handed the blond elf a small, cloth, purse clearly jingling with coins.

Senaht looked down at it. “What’s that for?”

“Since you’ve been sitting here awhile, it would be strange for anyone watching if you just got up and left. So, this is obviously to compensate you for the services we’ve agreed on. If anyone asks, we’ll be meeting up later on.”

The blond elf looked up from Hawke’s grin and over to Fenris, who nodded and smiled, and then to Mariner, who looked utterly stricken and completely out of his depth. Taking on his usual pleasant public persona, Senaht accepted the money by sliding it into the side pocket of his tunic and leaned over to Mariner to sensually whisper in his ear. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you take instruction well. We’ll show you how it’s done.”

The young Elusivir honestly had no idea how to parse those sentences and he even less of an idea if Senaht was hinting at something he should already be aware of or if this was just, as they say, playing along. He stared back at the blithe elf with a furrowed brow and a frown. But Senaht only laughed and casually got to his feet. 

“A fine plan, gentlemen.” He said, loudly enough for the immediate tavern to overhear them. “I’ll see to our preparations.”

As he then winked, turned, and left them, disappearing into the upper levels of the tavern. Mariner cocked his head to regard his companions, both of whom had simply gone back to sipping their ales and perusing the lunch menu.

“What the hell was that!?”

“Hush.” Fenris tapped his foot and gave Mariner a warning look. “We’ve learned what we came to.”

Mariner huffed and crossed his arms tersely. “I still don’t think all that was necessary.”

Fenris smiled but didn’t reply. In some sense, he understood the younger elf’s general discomfort and anxiety. He’d been that way once himself prior to leaving his master’s service but his time with Hawke had both matured him and dramatically shifted his views on certain things; city elves, the sex trade, and playing a role to get what you wanted among them. Still, he imagined that at least some of Mariner’s upset was due to the continued stares and comments he was already getting and would be getting more of. It was unsettling to be the center of whispered attention, particularly when that attention promised such potentially horrific consequences.

For a brief moment, as Fenris watched Mariner sullenly pick at the table over his half-filled mug of ale, he thought back to the _ashvani_ he had once known in Tevinter. He hadn’t told Hawke that he had actually known him, or, at least, had made his acquaintance. He had been a young city elf by the name of Daunhain but whom his master called Masha. Sadly, even by the time Fenris knew him, he’d been in sorry state for some time. Thin, weak, and pale, his master never-the-less insisted on “harvesting” him at least once every fortnight and often more than that. His partners were chosen for him; usually by drawing lots out of the best specimens of _ash_ available to the elite in the area and the two of them would then be forced to “perform,” as Fenris often thought of it, for gathered guests at a lavish party in the upper levels of a posh estate. He’d been honest with Hawke in that he had never been one of the chosen. Danarius had certainly considered it from time to time, but in the end, he hadn’t wanted to loan out his favorite slave in that way. 

Now, Fenris could see those wan features, those pleading eyes, in Mariner’s hunched posture and pinched expression. He’d never been able to help Masha, not even temporarily, and it was something that had actually haunted Fenris for quite some time. He would have done anything to save the _ashvani_ from the end that inevitably found him.

Three years after their initial meeting, Masha died. It was during yet another party, while he was being forcibly paired with yet another enslaved elven male; chained to a restraining bar on a floor pad in the middle of a grand, golden, ballroom illuminated by a thousand candles and filled with the cheers and laughter of the elite attendants. Uncharacteristically, Masha had struggled against this particular male and seemed to be intent on refusing this particular public mating. Something Fenris had never before seen him do. Masha had been in the service of his master for over a decade and was generally considered to be perfectly compliant and submissive. But he wasn’t on this night and it enraged both his master and the magisters who had all drawn in closely to see the Serenic process first-hand. As a result, not only was Masha beaten severely for his disobedience, he was then dosed again on the concoction of elfroot, witherstalk, and lyrium that was typically used to sedate _ashvani_ before they were taken. From what Fenris could tell, that was the final, fatal, blow.

Once Masha had drifted into unconsciousness, the masters demanded that the proceedings continue and ordered the male to his assigned task. But when the young _ash_ knelt down and tentatively touched the _ashvani_ by resting his hand first on his thigh and then on his abdomen, Fenris had known instinctively by the look on his face that something was wrong. The slave leapt up, shrieking and then sobbing that Masha wasn’t breathing; apparently terrified that he’d done something to the _ashvani_ and begging not to be punished. 

Of course, Fenris remembered thinking, he hadn’t. Nothing the _ash_ had or had not done was at all related to the tragedy that unfolded. In the end, Masha had been overdosed and just as his mind had slipped into the Fade Dreams beyond the Veil, it turned out that his body simply was no longer strong enough to withstand the injuries he’d sustained as well as another draught of the Serenic drugs. Within seconds, he was dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The masters were furious, the magisters were furious, the slaves were terrified, but nothing more could ever harm the only _ashvani_ then known to still live in the Tevinter Imperium at the time. 

Fenris had been sick to his stomach for hours afterwards, with constantly ruminating thoughts about what would have happened if the _ash_ that was chosen that day had, for whatever reason, been him. What would he have thought had he been ordered to lay with another, only to find them dead? Would he have also blamed himself? It was an awful thought and he hated himself for it. The slaves surrounding them were only really worried about what might happen to them as a result. Almost none of them expressed much concern for the _ashvani_ who was now still and cold in their midst. Later that night, a few of the servants wrapped Masha’s body in an old bed-sheet and buried him in the master’s garden, beneath the coneflower bushes that bloomed year-round. He was so small and so wasted away, it barely took a single kitchen slave to carry him to his final resting place. Fenris had watched the ad hoc funeral, with deep and unrelenting sorrow, from the window of the nearest tower.

Fenris sighed and glanced over at Mariner once more, who, for his part, didn’t seem aware of his companion’s macabre thoughts. Instead, he was currently intent on chasing a fly away from the rim of his mug and quietly cursing the world for getting him involved in such dark things. The elder elf took that moment to memorize how the younger _ashvani_ looked; healthy, alive, and in complete possession of his own mind and body. He swore it then, deep in his heart and into his soul, that he would not let Mariner or any of the other _ashvani_, suffer the fate that Masha had. He would do this, he would free them, and finally be able to lay this spirit to rest.


	9. You Win Some, You Lose Some

**Chapter 9 – You Win Some, You Lose Some**

Varric Tethras stared in delighted disbelief at the figure so casually walking through his door.

“Maker’s Breath! Hawke!” He exclaimed. “Of all people, I never thought I’d see you here!”

“Varric!” Hawke called out in return as the two met in the middle of the room and exchanged hugs and handshakes. 

“And you too, Broody!” 

Fenris scowled at the nickname but none-the-less acknowledged his friend. “Varric.”

“How’ve you been?” Hawke asked. “Kirkwall still in chaos?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old, on both accounts. After Anders headed south, I took Isabela up on her offer to ferry the rest of us across the bay before the Templars decided to show up. Last I hear, they did exactly that and are quite put out that they’ve missed all the fun. Needless to say, though, you’ll probably want to avoid Kirkwall for the foreseeable future.”

Fenris turned to Mariner. “This is Varric Tethras. An old friend of ours. If there’s anything to be known about Amaranthine, he’ll know it, I have no doubt. Varric? This is Mariner. Of the Kirinae Elusivir.”

Varric regarded the young elf with a measure of surprise. “Elusivir? Well, then. Now there’s someone you don’t see every day. What brings you to Amaranthine? Or, maybe what I should be asking is, what brings you to Amaranthine with these two?”

“Yeah, about that…” Hawke redirected, flopping contentedly into one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Shocking.” The dwarf deadpanned in response.

Varric’s quarters on the top level of the Merchant’s Guild main house were extremely comfortable. Two large hearths bookended an elongated, rectangular, space filled with comfortable chairs, piled-high rugs, and a writing desk at the far end. A single latticed window on the main wall overlooked the marketplace below and also served as the only source of daylight available, which was quickly waning in the late afternoon.

“Perhaps Mariner should start.” Fenris interjected. “He can better explain the problem, I think.”

All eyes turned to him and Mariner found himself unexpectedly uncomfortable with the expectant looks. It seemed that everything about this city would be setting him on edge today and despite the casual friendly intimacy of the current gathering, he was apprehensive.

“Alright.” He began, crossing his arms and idly pacing from side to side as he thought about how to best to bring this newest companion up to speed. “Several days ago, slave-raiders attacked our caravan as we traveled out of the northern villages. You can pretty much guess the outcome, I’m sure. We can fight but we’re not exactly a warrior-people. Many of the caravan were simply killed outright. The rest were captured, chained, and loaded onto slave ships bound for the Tevinter ports.” Mariner paused then, unsure of exactly how much he should immediately divulge. 

“As you have also probably already noticed,” He continued. “I am _ashvani_. And I am certain that the raid on my caravan was carried out because I was one among four. Most caravans don’t have so many. We were just…lucky, I guess. Anyway, they separated the others out of the group and took them to the coast, I tracked them here, and I intend to free them. That’s where we are now.”

Varric didn’t respond immediately and instead took a moment to look the elf up and down before turning to Hawke with a raised eyebrow. “And the rest of it?”

Hawke smiled. Varric was hard to read but he was always, invariably, and incredibly perceptive. The mage needed only one word. “Serenic.”

The dwarf stood in the center of the room, facing the fire. One hand resting on his chin, the other at his waist, in a thoughtful pose. He scratched lightly at the golden stubble sprinkling his jaw and stared at the floor contemplatively. 

“That’s not something I was hoping to hear today. Or, ever again really.” He finally stated.

“You know what it is then?” Fenris said, hardly looking up from his position leaning over the lintel of the hearth.

Varric looked almost insulted. “I know what it is. Every merchant, bard, and mage from here to the Hinterlands knows what it is, Fenris.”

“Then you know why we’re here.”

Varric sighed. “Let me guess. You ran across an elf in need who told you a woeful tale wherein a bunch of Ferelden raiders somehow dug up enough coin to sail into Kirinae with the intent to target the elven caravans in the region. A short time later, the story turns out to be true and you’ve decided to come to the rescue. But the problem isn’t actually quite so simple, you find, because these particular slavers aren’t just on the prowl for any old elf to slap some shackles on. Oh no, they want something specific and very rare, and are all too happy to brave some of the most treacherous waters in Thedas to reach a remote region covered in star-high mountains all for getting a hold of three, maybe four, individuals that could weeks or months to find. But where might they come up with that kind of information and money, you ask? Why, the pampered and educated elite of the greater Imperium in the market for some very special slaves who can provide them with some very special balm.” He paused there, almost growling in frustration. “Well, now I know why Ravenica was going on and on about his “new acquisitions.” Damn. Damndamn. Why did it have to be Serenic?”

Mariner hugged his shoulders and regarded the dwarf nervously. “Do you know how they are? Where they are?”

“I haven’t seen the _ashvani_, if that’s what you’re asking. But I know who you are asking about. Gallio Ravenica.”

“That’s the name we’ve heard.” Hawke confirmed.

“Yeah, I bet.” Varric replied. “Marquis Ravenica. One of the most renowned, and ruthless, players of the Grand Game. Extravagant, famed for excess, and not above a few outright assassinations to move up the proverbial ladder. I wasn’t at all surprised when the Merchant’s Guild sent out a request for contract help when he came to town but if what you’re telling me is true; that this grand ball he’s planning for the Amaranthine nobility is actually the first link in a new Serenic chain, then there isn’t an elf in the Free Marches who is safe right now.”

“What do you mean?” Mariner shifted nervously.

“I mean,” Varric turned. “That the minute that stuff starts showing up again among the rich and crazy, it’s going to draw the attention of the Chantry which is going to draw the attention of the Templars and from there we’ll be right back to the alienage raids and elf hunts that lead us to the eradication and ban the last time. None of you probably remember those days but what the history books don’t tell you is just how ready the powers-that-be were to start carrying out complete genocide against the elves in the hopes of preventing any access to Serenic in any form.”

“Stuff’s that powerful, huh?” Hawked piped up again from the back of his comfortable chair.

“It can reverse Tranquil, Hawke. You really think the Templars are going to let something like that get out for the sake of a few elves? And just for the fact that the _ashvani_ aren’t necessarily easy to pick out of a crowd if they don’t want to be, they’re likely to start killing any elf whether they look the type or not.”

“We need to free the _ashvani_, then.” Fenris stated. “Before they get a chance to pair any of them.”

“Easier said than done, Fen.” Varric, rather surprisingly, actually used his name to his face for once. “If Ravenica is holding three captured _ashvani_, they are going to be under lock, key, and guard twenty-four hours a day, you can bet on it. Competent guard, even. Not the half-paid mercenaries and sell-swords you might usually encounter around here. He’s also certain to be keeping them somewhere other than in the main estate. Can’t risk a visit by the Night Commander or All-High-Whatever, who then sees them and either kills everyone in the room or demands to be dealt in on the action.”

“Wait, maybe what Senaht said could point us in the right direction.” Mariner jumped in. “He said that he saw a group of guards escorting two of them through the marketplace a few days ago. Perhaps there’s a way to figure out where they went?”

“Senaht?” Varric furrowed his brow. “You’ve been talking to Senaht?”

“Is…that a problem?” Fenris looked concerned but did his best to keep it out of his voice.

“No, not a problem.” Varric rejoined. “But there’s some very interesting word on the street when it comes to that particular elf.”

“Can he be trusted?” Hawke sat up.

“For the time being.” Varric waved off his friends’ growing worry. “His loyalties aren’t exactly clear, even on the best of days but, from what I can tell, he’s not a particular fan of the Imperial slave trade. He has, however, been suspiciously present for a number of disappearances on both sides of the captivity aisle.”

“Noted.” Hawke agreed. “But that still leaves the bigger question. Can you help us get into this estate and find them?”

“Hmmm.” The dwarf pondered. “Maybe. The trick will be finding out just exactly where the elves are being kept. The big party is next week, at which, I am sure, at least one of them will be made present but probably not all three. But that doesn’t do much for us in terms of getting them out. And there’s no way the three of you could get in there; particularly not as two elves and a mage.”

“What about Smuggler’s Cove?” Hawke asked. “If this guy’s tastes run into the gruesome, I’m willing to bet pretty slaves aren’t his only vice.”

“Worth a try.” Varric nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out from the Guild about party planning. Guard rotations, resources, locations, that kind of thing. It’s possible that someone somewhere along the line has let slip a bit of information we can use. The Cove should be bustling tonight though, so be careful.”

“I’m always careful.” Hawke’s cheeky grin caused Varric’s eyes to roll slightly, but he was glad to see his companions so confident. To be honest, he wasn’t sure any of them were ready to get mixed up in the Serenic Underground. He knew he wasn’t.

********

It didn’t take Hawke long to find the passageways that led to the Smuggler’s Cove once again, though, given the amount of activity and noise emanating from the watery caves at this late hour, he wouldn’t have had trouble locating it either way. From what the three of them could tell, hunched in an archway overlooking the main drop-off point, this party was going to be something of legend. Aside from all the regular channels by which the Orlesian nobility in Amaranthine were purchasing goods and services, they were also supplementing their extravagance with a variety of black-market exchanges. Hawke could make out crates of opium cakes and lyrium potions, dried elfroot mixed with spices, artworks and precious gems, and curiously, several boxes that appeared to contain stacks of worn, leather-bound, books.

Thankfully, all three companions took note that there didn’t appear to be any slaves on these shipments; only material goods. So, at least in that respect, it did not seem that additional captives would be brought in for entertainment through the underground venues. Senaht had been reasonably clear that that the companions expected to attend this party were all legitimately hired and Fenris began to wonder if this was, in some ways, intended to hide the illicit nature of what would be carried out on the literal backs of the ashvani. In other words, inundating the event with lawful sex work in order to obscure the unlawful. Vice as plausible deniability, one might say.

“I’m going to see if I can find the dockmaster’s post.” Hawke spoke up in a strained whisper. “I’ve got some pull with the smuggler companies down here, so I might be able to use that to get us a way in. I really should go in alone though. They might not take too well to you two, given our problems here. Fen, you should take Mariner to the far-side of the warehouse and see if you can find out anything. As in, where are they taking all this stuff and what do they know about who it’s for. There has to be a manifesto somewhere. These guys might be a den of thieves, but they always make sure they get their money.”

“Hawke.” Fenris warned. “I’m not so sure that splitting up is a good idea. If you get into trouble…”

“I’ll be fine.” The mage shook his head. “This lot aren’t nearly as scary as they look. Most of them aren’t even fighters and virtually no one down here knows a thing about magic. If something goes wrong, I’ll blast myself out and you can just follow the commotion. It’s better if you look after Mariner. We’ll meet back up at the end of the passageway in…let’s say…half an hour or so?”

Fenris nodded thoughtfully but he couldn’t shake his misgivings. He had a really, really, bad feeling about all of this. As Hawke shuffled down the embankment towards the wooden scaffolding that served as the upper walkways, Fenris watched him go with a slightly sorrowful expression. He never liked being parted from his lover but this time felt especially dire. As a result, he unintentionally mouthed a word no one, not even he, had actually ever heard him say. He then immediately regretted not having ever said it earlier nor Hawke having ever heard it from him. But then Fenris turned to Mariner, who was still leaning over the ledge to observe the goings-on below.

“Alright, let’s head westward. The warehouse looks like its over there across the from the tie-up. They’ve been moving crates down those stairs since we arrived.”

“Fenris?” Mariner pushed himself up from his knees into a crouch. “I don’t like this. I…I can’t place it, but something feels off.”

The elder elf acknowledged him with a sigh. “I know, I can’t tell what it is either, but these smugglers don’t seem like the usual brigand types. Be on your guard.”

Mariner was already wary, but his hand absently strayed to his hip, where he could still feel the hard edge of the dagger Fenris had given him during the bandit attack on the road, angled beneath the seams and darts at his waist. He contemplated drawing it, for a bit of added protection if nothing else, but soon decided against it as the two elves began to make their way down the rock wall and towards the lantern light below. The stones were smooth and slippery; wet with condensation and spatter from ships passing beneath them, and the younger elf had no doubt that he would have dropped the weapon several times over as he skittered from one handhold to the next. There were both remarkedly sure-footed, however, and arrived on the rough-hewn planks of the lower scaffolding with hardly a sound.

As a precaution, Fenris drew his sword. “Head down to the left and mind the steps. They’ll creak.” He said. 

Mariner pursed his lips but nodded in affirmation; placing the soles of his bare feet one by one on the edges of the wood stairs to minimize the noise and holding the edges of his long coat away from the bannister. The hustle and bustle of the illicit trade would likely take care of the rest. 

Their way was not pleasantly illuminated but the two elves quickly found themselves reasonably well hidden behind rows upon rows of casks, barrels, and crates; most of which simply awaited loading onto wheeled carts for end-stage transport. The lapping of water could still be heard sloshing against the pylons beneath them and every now and again, shouts would erupt from the gathering of raiders carousing about near a table by the out-mouth. Mariner drew in a stuttering breath against the dank, humid, air and checked Fenris’ position over his shoulder again. The other elf was close but distracted by the arguments going on opposite them. 

“You really think it’s true?” One marauder was asking another.

“S’what true?” A privateer with a blue bandana replied.

“That those elves was girls?”

A bubble of laughter welled up from the gathering. “Well! They didn’t look like it!” The same voice protested.

“All elves look like girls.” A third voice added, only half-jokingly.

Mariner sighed and continued further into the warehouse as Fenris cocked his head near the gap in the wood to listen closer. Spying a stack of papers near the end of the closest shelf, the younger elf padded over to begin flipping through the listings. At first, he thought they might be names but upon further investigation he realized that the writing was in Tevene; a language he, unfortunately, knew little of aside from food labels and curse words. He had long stopped listening to the, rather boring by his account, conversation just beyond.

Fenris, on the other hand, was growing increasingly worried.

“No, no, I mean it! Was they girls or not?!”

“Why do you care?”

“’Cause I want to know how you can tell. I mean, for what we was paid for those three; soon as we grab that fourth one we’ll be set for life! And if I know how you know which kind of knife-ear is which, maybe I can find some more! That’s a fortune right there.”

Fenris was suddenly frantic and dashed across the gangway to where Mariner was still digging through sheaves of papers and packing slips. “We need to go.”

“Hey, Fen. You’re from Tevinter, right?” Mariner turned and held up one of the pages. “What does this say?”

“I…what?” He took a step back. “Not now. I’m getting you out of here.”

“What?! No! Not yet. We haven’t gotten any answers yet. Tell me what this says.”

With an exasperated sigh, Fenris grabbed the nearest stack and began to riffle through it hastily. At no other times more so than these was Fenris grateful to Hawke for having taught him to read. Though he still wasn’t especially fluent at it and working out lengthy sentences still took him a significant amount of time, he had figured out how to skim large blocks of text for words he could quickly recognize. That the language was Tevene actually made it a bit easier for him and he did his best to get the gist of the first few paragraphs of each section he thumbed through.

The elder elf suddenly paled and threw the papers to the ground before grabbing Mariner by the sleeve and half-yanking, half-dragging him towards the back entrance. 

“What is it?!” Mariner hissed, trying to regain purchase on the floor at the same time as he was trying not to make too much noise. Fenris wasn’t making it easy though.

“We’re leaving. Right now.” He snarled.

“What. Did. You. Read?”

Fenris rounded on him, nearly throwing the smaller elf into a wall and pushing him further into the shadows. “They’re bills of sale, Mariner. For clothing and trinkets and ornaments and all the kinds of things in a…a...in an endowment. In a trousseau. And they’re all listed under the names of the slaves they’re intended for. One of them…is you! They know you’re here!”

Unfortunately, it was at that very moment that Fate decided against the luck of all elves and Fenris mistook the dawning look of horror on Mariner’s face as a reaction to the terrifying news he’d just been given rather than the realization that they were being ambushed. Even worse, he figured it out far, far, too late. A sickening crack resounded off the walls as the elder elf felt a sudden burst of lightening pain shoot down from the back of his neck to the base of his spine. But he then felt nothing else as the world went numb and black; his knees failing and his body falling limply to the floor in advance of a frightened scream that the shaking Elusivir could not help but loose.

********

Mariner was trapped, close to sobbing in terror; backed into a darkened corner where the walls threatened to swallow him and then spit him out into hellish oblivion. Fenris lay, unconscious and bleeding, several feet away; his sword kicked away as soon as he had fallen. Four armored figures emerged from the shadows, each raising blades and chains menacingly towards the shrinking _ashvani_.

“That’s enough, gentlemen.”

What a strangely calm voice it was; placid and soothing in a way it had no right to be; with words spoken in such a manner as to be clear that they commanded immediate obedience. The man so attached to the sound appeared shortly afterwards; stepping through the mercenaries with all the poise and entitlement of a master who had never truly faced a challenge he couldn’t overcome through sheer authority. He leaned down and gently, so awfully and terribly gently, touched Fenris’ cheek; feeling the soft rise of his breaths before languidly trailing his fingers through the trickles of blood at his temple.

“My, isn’t he a unique one. Practiced with a strong sword arm and lyrium branding to boot. Someone put in a lot of work to create such a masterpiece as this.”

Mariner appraised a man whose quiet dignity and grace could only be described as sinister. He was richly dressed; far above anything the Kirinae elf had ever seen before this day. His long tunic was made of iridescent green fabrics and trimmed in mink; emeralds and gold-rimmed peridot sewn directly into the threads to simulate a wide collar and cuffs. He wore many rings and pendants of rarified minerals, and a heavy cloak wrap that could only have been made of the pelt of giant wolf. Its silvery hairs glinted like moonrise in the dim light.

The man himself was easily in his fifth decade, but it hardly showed in the smooth, tanned, skin of his face. He was clean-shaven without the slightest nick or blemish, with shoulder-length brown hair brushed away from his face and piercing dark brown eyes that felt like they could bore into the depths of the _ashvani’s_ very soul.

“Hello, Mariner.” So gentle. So consolatory.

“How….”

“How do I know your name?” He never wavered, never flinched, as he stepped a little closer. “Aurvandil told me all about you. Oh, don’t be upset, little one. He didn’t sell you out. They’re pretty sure you’re coming to save them, actually. It’s really quite sweet and I am not at all angry. But…that’s not how this is going to go, I’m afraid. Shhhh…. Shhhh…. hush now, don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, today is probably the best thing that’s ever going to happen to you.”

“Don’t hurt him.” Mariner pleaded, setting his jaw against the bile rising in his throat. “Please. Take me and leave him alone.”

The man glanced down at Fenris and then back up to Mariner with a warm smile and a reassuring demeanor. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m not going to harm your mate. Rather, I’m going to make sure that he stays as close to you as possible.”

“My...?” Mariner stopped the question before it could fully form. If this man thought that Fenris was his bond-mate, it was currently the only leverage he had in ensuring that the other elf would not be outright killed. He simply couldn’t abide the thought of any one of these men casually leaning down and cutting his friend’s throat or running him through the back without a second thought; not if there was something he could do to save him. And he had no doubt whatsoever that if these men thought that Fenris was unrelated to him in any way, they would do just that. Though, his heart was already beginning to hurt at the realization that they were both about to be enslaved. And Fenris, for the second time.

“It’s alright, Mariner.” The man continued, raising his hands up in a beckoning gesture and speaking to the _ashvani_ as though he were a frightened child. “I’m going to take care of you now, I promise. Just think of it: you’ll have the finest clothes in the best fabrics, food and drink to your heart’s content, a warm, clean, bed every night, a hot-water bath at any time of day. No more cold or hunger or desperation. You’ll live in the most luxuriant mansions with gardens and spacious rooms, and you’ll have the run of an entire company of servants dedicated to your beck and call. You’ll have your mate with you whenever you like him. No one will keep him from you. You’ll have everything you could ever ask for.”

“Except my freedom.”

He smiled: that soothing, understanding, stomach-twisting smile. “Well, there’s a cost to everything in this world sadly. And this one is ours to settle up on.” He suddenly straightened, startling the young elf. “Ah, goodness, but where are my manners. My sincere apologies, little one. Here I am, yammering on and on about palaces and luxuries, and we’ve barely been introduced. My name…” He bowed in a courtly fashion here. “…is Gallio Ravenica. It is so nice to finally meet you.”


	10. Desperate Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Finished this chapter a bit early! Already tackling the next one. But, as always, thank you all for reading and for those who are commenting. I really appreciate the interest and I love to hear that you are enjoying the story. Cheers! - Nas)

**Chapter 10 – Desperate Times**

“Fen…. Fenris…. please wake up……C’mon…. Fen!”

Sweet Maker, everything hurt. His head was pounding something fierce and the ringing in his ears was starting to sound like a cacophony of off-key birds in a rendition of the Six Bard Tap Dance. Fenris struggled to open his eyes and when he did, it took several moments for the world to come back into focus out of the bleary mess it started out as. Not that it seemed to matter all that much, considering the myriad of bright rainbow spots that continued to dance across his field of vision even as he came back to himself fully. About a minute later, he realized that some of those spots were actually multi-colored lights hanging in a grand chandelier from the ceiling, while the others were the reflections from red, blue, and purple glass through the lamps on the table next to him. 

“Oh, thank the gods, Fenris, are you alright?!”

The elder elf slowly began to sit up, one hand clutching the throbbing knot at the back of his head while he leaned heavily on the other. He was sitting on a bed; an extraordinarily opulent, four-poster, bed at that. Heavy, red velvet curtains were pulled back to mahogany posts with black satin ribbons. Plush rugs surrounded it on the floor on either side. A kind of mobile of twinkling crystal lights hung from the canopy, such that the occupant of the bed might have some tiny bit of illumination even when the drapes obscured everything else in the room beyond.

Mariner sat next to him on the duvet; his face drawn and worried. But other than that, as far as Fenris could make out, the _ashvani_ seemed unharmed. He looked disheveled, though; his long hair falling in wildly sketched lines across his face and over his shoulders to the mattress. His coat was scuffed and off-kilter, as though he’d been struggling against something, or someone, for quite a time. But he had also rolled his sleeves to his elbows and was still holding a damp cloth that, given the blood stains on it, he must have been using to tend to Fenris’ wound.

“You’ve been out for hours.” The younger elf fussed. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to ever wake up at all.”

“I’m awake.” Fenris replied automatically. “Where are we?”

He sounded far calmer than he should have, in Mariner’s reckoning. “I’m not completely sure. A mansion, in Amaranthine somewhere. The High Road, maybe. They didn’t really let me see where we were going but they didn’t take us far.”

With that, Fenris took stock of himself and their situation. He’d been stripped of his armor, his gauntlets, and his weapons; seeing as he was sitting here now in just his black tunic shirt and leggings. Mariner appeared to be the same as he’d left him; though, that didn’t entail much more than himself and his distinctive, Elusivir, coat. It wasn’t like Mariner carried a lot on him, even when he did have possessions to speak of. But it was then that Fenris spied the bands around each of his wrists and he scowled as he raised one to his face to get a better look at it.

“Venhedis!” He snarled. 

“What?!” Mariner jumped and glanced around as Fenris dropped his face into his hands. “What is it?”

“Magebane.” He replied flatly. “Magebane shackles. Because of course they are.”

“I…” Mariner thought for a moment, looking Fenris over carefully. “I don’t think I understand what that means.”

The other elf held out one of his hands, idly waving it in the air as if to indicate the thick, metal, cuff that extended from his wrist to his mid-forearm. “These. These are Magebanes. Someone has gone to great lengths to ensure that I will be unable to call upon my markings to ghost my way in or out.”

“Fenris.” Mariner swallowed thickly. “I am so…so…sorry. I had no idea what was going to happen to you…to either of us. They ambushed us in the warehouse. I didn’t see them coming and before I knew it, you were on the ground and they had us both surrounded. I did everything I could. I thought they were going to kill you.”

Fenris sighed and looked up. “It’s…it’s alright. We’re alive and that’s what counts. Now it’s a question of getting ourselves out of here. Hawke will have, no doubt, realized that something is wrong by now and will be looking for us. I’m a little surprised they kept us together though. I should be in a cell in the basement somewhere if they were smart.”

“They think you’re my mate.”

“What?”

“That’s why they didn’t kill you back in the Cove. Gallio Ravenica thinks you’re my bond-mate. He’s keeping you here to ensure my…. cooperation.”

Fenris stared at him for a moment and then turned away; his face contorting into a dour expression. He didn’t speak for a long time; staring straight ahead and off into the lavishly decorated room. A large fireplace, sitting chairs, books and tea, the bed and two nightstands, a writing desk, but no windows. Not a single portal to the outside world at all, save the massive oak door bolted with iron bars the size of saplings.

“We’ve been enslaved.” He finally said, more to the room than to its occupants.

“Yes.” The _ashvani_ replied sadly. “Yes, I believe we have.”

The sound of a large lock turning and the scrape of wood upon metal startled both elves into silence as the door was forcefully swung wide. Immediately, six heavily armored men marched into the room, lowering their menacing-looking curved swords directly at Fenris, who, for his part, hadn’t moved from his seat on the edge of the bed and didn’t seem as though he intended to now. Four of the blackguard took up positions on either side of the elder elf, warning him by their postures and by their weapons not to get up, while the other two flanked Mariner from behind. They seemed careful not to touch him however and prodded him forward using only the flats of their blades.

It was then that Gallio Ravenica entered the room. He strode in from the hallway with aplomb; a wide, beaming smile spreading across his face as he opened his arms in welcome.

“Hello again, my dear friends.” He announced brightly, though he was met by little more than two grim expressions and a slightly curled lip. He’d also changed his clothes since Mariner had last seen him in the smuggler’s den. He now wore a somewhat ostentatious looking purple tunic, belted at the waist with gold trim, and a bear fur shoulder-wrap clipped to his collar with ruby pins. He’d also gone as far as to pull his mid-length hair into a slicked-back ponytail that looked like it may have recently been tucked underneath a hat. His features were almost care-worn from this angle but Mariner had to admit that the man certainly took care of himself and was, by all human accounts, quite handsome.

“Now.” He clapped his hands together gleefully. “I’m not actually here to disturb you over-much. I know that you both desperately need your rest and I promise, when we’re done, I’ll leave you to it but I’m afraid I haven’t yet gotten the chance to inspect my latest charge. And you know how it is. All records of state-of-acquisition need to be kept proper and tidy.”

“In…spect?” Mariner felt both apprehensive and a little sick.

Surprisingly, it was Fenris who answered. “It’s alright. Don’t fight him on this. It will only make it worse and it’s not worth it.”

Mariner turned and looked over his shoulder at where Fenris was hunched over, still gingerly massaging the side of his head. “Don’t…fight…. what?”

Fenris took a slow breath. “He’s going to…check you. Mainly to ensure that you’re in good health and uninjured.” Through his words and his tone, Fenris communicated the banality of the horror the younger elf was about to endure; through the steadiness of his gaze and the set line of his mouth, he communicated that this was not the time or place to resist and start a fight. They were going to have to pick their battles very carefully if both of them were going to survive this; and no one in the room knew that better than Fenris.

Gallio Ravenica seemed inordinately pleased with this exchange and smiled reassuringly. “Your mate is very perceptive, Mariner. And don’t you worry. He’ll be right there the entire time. I do have to congratulate you though; you have preposterously good taste in ash. A lyrium warrior isn’t the kind of elf one sees every day and I’m sure he is, no doubt, exceptionally protective of you. But this won’t take long and then we’ll see to it that that head-wound is taken care of and you both are properly fed.”  
Mariner balked but the edge of a sword at his lower back prevented him from instinctively stepping backwards and away from the vile, demonic, creature who had taken on the guise of a man in the center of the room.

“Now, Mariner. If you would be so kind, remove your coat please.”

The younger elf hesitated. “And if I say no?”

“Well.” Ravenica sighed theatrically. “We can certainly go that route, if you prefer. I’d really rather not, though. It will be much quicker and far less upsetting to you if you behave yourself. But if you insist on disobedience, and I can’t say that I wouldn’t understand it, I’ll just have to have the guard remove it from you. Which would be a pity, honestly.” He added with quick intonation. “It’s a beautiful coat. I’m happy to let you keep it, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Mariner glanced again to Fenris, who’s unwavering gaze remained fixed on him. The elder elf nodded only once but Mariner understood his meaning. He would have to comply.  
With a shaking breath, the _ashvani_ turned back to his captor and reached up to carefully begin undoing the line of bone buttons that held the coat in place. The word the Elusivir had for the entirety of an _ashvani’s_ traditional dress was Kria; which altogether typically consisted of a shin-length white or black shift-style tunic, belted at the waist with a wide, flat, wrap, and occasionally, elven leggings beneath. The entire ensemble was then covered by the caravan coat; a particularly special cassock-style garment which was often embroidered with scenes and images important to the Elusivir who wore it. Mariner’s chocolate brown coat had been made by his adoptive grandmothers and contained his entire life’s worth of precious memories, names, and stories. To lose it would be to lose a vital part of himself and he couldn’t image this man taking it from him. 

As he worked at the last few buttons towards the bottom hem, it suddenly occurred to him to feel along the waist seam once more, just below the gathering darts where the internal pocket of his coat lay. To his shock, the familiar hard edge of Fenris’ dagger was still there. The guards had checked him for hidden weapons back in the warehouse…. But in the haze of their capture, he hadn’t realized that they had never taken a hold of the coat. And the fabric it was made from happened to sit just so against the flare of his waist that the midsection betrayed nothing hidden beneath it. Mariner swallowed nervously; terrified that his expression would give his discovery away. Hurriedly, he pulled the caravan coat from his shoulders and rolled it into a haphazard pile such that the folds of the lengthy train would obscure any hint of the blade. He then dropped it onto the rug at the base of the bed; hopeful that no one would think to disturb it.

Ravenica took several steps closer. His eyes drifted appreciatively up and down the elf’s slender body. He really did have a thing for elves; a fetish, if he was willing to admit to it. Honestly, he’d been this way since boyhood; watching his household’s elven servants ever with an eye towards the pleasing curves of their backs, the gentle rise of their hips, and their smooth, almost unnaturally unblemished skin. All of his formative sexual experiences had been with elves, as well as all of the memorable ones since. He did so adore them in every way and once he learned of the _ashvani_ and their rare gifts, he knew he simply had to possess them, no matter how difficult the endeavor would be. As such, he appraised his newest acquisition from a few feet away. The white linen shift the young elf still wore was rough-spun but sturdy, though it did little to hide the deep heaving breaths that caused his chest to flutter. So, his little _ashvani_ was afraid.

With performative gentleness, Ravenica reached out and slid his fingers into Mariner’s hair, just above his right ear. It was just as silken and glossy as he’d hoped it would be. As he sifted the locks through his hand, he took particular note of the blends of gold and umber that gave Mariner that sumptuous auburn look, flowing over his shoulders and down his back to end in a few inches of snowy white just above his waist. He’d simply never seen the like of it and wondered how the elf had come to look as he did. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he kept company with a lyrium warrior who, for all intents and purposes, looked like he had something of a mystical bent to him as well. He thought then about just how much he was looking forward to watching them pair.

With a click of his tongue, the man then gave a light tug to Mariner’s collar. “Now this.”

The ashvani winced but said nothing in response. From behind him on the bed, Fenris perceptibly tensed, but also remained silent. In took several minutes for Mariner to move again, but when he did, he simply raised his hands to undo the clasps of the shift, loosen the corset ties and wrap at his lower back, and let all of the material drop from his body to pool onto the floor around his feet. Like most Elusivir, he wore nothing else underneath the Kria, since he hadn’t thought to bring leggings with him during the flight from Kirinae. 

Gallio Ravenica couldn’t help but let out an excited huff. Mariner was, to put it quite simply, breath-taking. Such luscious, lightly-tanned, skin he wanted nothing more than to spend the night licking. And not a mark or scar on him, so that it looked as though someone had drenched his slender frame in overflowing buttercream of the highest quality. He was slim and compact, much like most elves, but with the clear musculature of someone quite used to long walking and difficult terrain. Though, and it was this what Ravenica noticed with particular joy, he was not quite so well built as to disturb the clean, minimalist, lines of his body with unsightly bulges or veins. 

Mariner’s chest was solid and tight, and looked much the same as one would expect of a male elf if slightly more rounded and with softer planes. His torso was lithe, however, and gently widened out to the rise of his hips, which were much more decidedly feminine. And there, at the apex of his thighs, the soft, hidden, curve of his sex that promised Ravenica and all who curried his favor the most splendid and ethereal joys, even if none of them might ever lay more than a hand on it. This _ashvani_ was exceptionally exquisite and would make a perfect addition to his household. He would be, without a doubt, the most envied man in the empire with a slave such as this one. The other three _ashvani_ were still up for debate though. He thought he should keep two of them in total and sell, or perhaps even gift, the other two once they returned to Tevinter, but regardless of what he decided with the rest, Mariner and his branded mate would be remaining with him indefinitely.

As was his habit, and his privilege as master, Ravenica reached out and flattened his palm against Mariner’s stomach; lightly kneading his abdomen. The _ashvani_ took in a sharp breath and turned his head away slightly but didn’t resist the touch. 

“Are you, by any chance or suspicion, pregnant?” The man asked casually.

Mariner turned to him with a cold stare. “No.”

Ravenica smiled again in return. “Excellent. Not to worry, we’ll keep it that way. Now, we might change those plans later on down the line but for now I’m glad that won’t be a concern. Second question; do you have any chronic conditions or injuries I should know about. Wouldn’t do to have to you become ill all of a sudden.”

“No.”

“Happy to hear it.” He ceased the pressure on Mariner’s abdomen to allow his hand to sweep across to the _ashvani’s_ hip and then lightly caress his side. “And how old are you?”

“What?”

“Come now, it’s a simple question. How old are you?”

Mariner actually had to pause at this question. Not because he didn’t want to answer but because he didn’t know; at least, not by the Chantry’s calendar. He only knew his age in respect to the seasonal, cyclical, calendar kept by the nomadic northern elves and not as a measure of days, months, and years. That wasn’t how his people spoke of time.

“I’m…” He struggled to keep his composure against the invasive fingertips now sliding around his ribs towards his backside. “…not sure. Mid-spring.” Was his response.

“Fascinating.” Ravenica stated, leaning in for a moment to breath the _ashvani’s_ scent from the area near where the tip of his ear pressed towards the back of his neck. “I suppose that will have to do. Well then, thank you, my sweet one. You may dress now. I’ll have food brought up immediately. Have a fine night. I’ll be seeing you both again soon.”

And then he was gone. And then the guards and the flats of swords and menacing men were all gone as well. The door swung shut. The sound of the latch closing resounded hollowly off the walls. Emptily. With a finality he could hardly comprehend. A choked sob followed, and Mariner collapsed to the floor in tears.

********

Something was crashing up the stairs. Something loud…something angry…something…

“THEY TOOK HIM!”

Varric leapt up from his desk, papers scattering everywhere as a profoundly battered and beaten Liam Hawke came barreling though the door to his Merchant’s Guild chambers. The mage looked an absolute fright. His face was bloody and blackened with what appeared to be soot and chalk dust. His clothes were askew and badly torn, and the pronounced limp with which he staggered into the room belied several deeper, and more worrisome, injuries.

“Varric!” He yelled, falling onto one knee on the rug as his leg finally gave out. “They took him. They took Fenris!”

“Hold on, hold on, Hawke!” Varric grabbed the mage by the shoulders and heaved him into a chair next to the fireplace. “Who took Fenris?”

“The…the...blackguard!” He motioned wildly, still frantically looking about. “They were waiting for us at the Cove…just…dozens of them! They took him, Varric. They took Fenris, and Mariner too!”

“Hawke! You’ve got to calm down. Breath, man, breath!”

What resulted was more like a gurgling wail than an actual breath, but Varric decided it was the best they were going to do for the moment. He handed Hawke a cloth and a cup of water.

“Ok, slow down. What happened?”

“I went to the dockmaster’s post; like before, right? But when I got there, it was all wrong. These weren’t smugglers Varric, they were mercenaries. And not even really mercenaries. The whole cove was full of soldiers, Imperial soldiers. It was everything I could do to get out of there in one piece. They just…just…struck on sight. No questions, just stabbing. I tried to get back to the rendezvous point but before I even got into the passageway, I saw them. Fenris was down; bleeding all over the place. They had Mariner by the shoulders and were dragging them both off. I got down there to get Fen’s sword.” Here he pulled the weapon in question from the belt hitch at his side. “But then they were just gone. Just vanished. The whole lot of them!”

Varric sighed and pinched his nose. “I warned you about this guy Ravenica, didn’t I? I told you he had something like his own personal army out there. No shit he’s in control of the cove right now. Alright, bad move. Bad move on our part.”

“What are we going to do, Varric? We have to get them back. I can’t…” Hawke clenched his jaw and tried to steady his hands. “I can’t leave Fenris to another slave master. It will destroy him. It will destroy them both.”

“Keep your shirt on, Hawke. Nobody’s suggesting we abandon either of our friends to their fates at the hands of the Tevinter Imperium. But can you please get the hint that we need to take this carefully from here on out? Fenris and Mariner are in a tremendous amount of danger right now and if we don’t do this right, we will be too. Got that? If we’re going to get them out then we have to get them out smart.”

Hawke nodded, still dumbstruck with anxiety and dread. “Ok, ok. How do we do that?”

Varric offered a wry smile. “Well, I haven’t been idle myself here, you know? Ask the right questions to the right people and you’d be surprised what kinds of things fall out of the medicine cabinet. It so happens that our friend, Gallio Ravenica is exceptionally good at keeping merchant’s records. And by that I mean almost obsessively-compulsively good. Which means that he’s already in the process of setting up official import documentation for his new slaves. Gotta make sure no one and nothing is unexpectedly stopped, searched, and confiscated by ill-considered parties, considering precisely what these slaves are going to be imported for. You get my drift?”

“Not really.” Hawke answered with a fluster. “What do value declarations and bills of sale have to do with getting Fenris and Mariner out of there?”

“Oh, Hawke.” Varric rolled his eyes but patted his friend warmly on the shoulder. “I know how much you love the less diplomatic solutions to these sorts of things but hear me out. How much do you know about Imperial Rights to Enslaved Personage Transfers?”

********

Mariner stared sullenly at the plate of food Fenris had set before him. Dressed once more and wrapped in a blanket, he tried not to cry but was having little luck. He could still feel that calloused hand touching him; that perverted gaze, those wandering fingers. He sniffled again and wiped his face.

“You need to eat.” The elder elf spoke up calmly from where he’d taken a seat next to the hearth, working his way around his own plate. “I understand why you don’t want to but it’s counter-intuitive. Starving yourself isn’t going to help. You’ll need your strength for the fight when it comes.”

Unfortunately, the younger elf thought he might vomit if he had to stomach any of the delectable looking morsels in front of him. “Did you ever…have to do that?”

Fenris paused to finish chewing before he spoke. “A body inspection? Many times.”

“How could you…stand something like that?”

The elder elf sighed and set his plate down onto the warm stones. “It’s different when you’re born into it. It just seems…normal. It was so common, especially after my markings were completed, I don’t think I even really noticed it so much. Danarius would walk in, order me to present myself, and I would. Sometimes there would be an audience and sometimes not. Afterwards I think I just went back to whatever it was I was doing at the time and didn’t think about it again. It was, honestly, one of the least of my worries.”

Mariner picked at the food absently. “What’s going to happen, Fenris?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

The ashvani looked up and met a steady, if compassionate, gaze. His response was less confident. 

“Yes.”

“Well.” Fenris shook his head and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “He’ll keep us in here for a while. Isolated. Mostly to observe how we’re getting along, so to speak. And then the party will be held. Servants and guards will be sent to make us ready; bathing, dressing, whatever it is Ravenica has in mind to show off to his…honored guests. Then, I imagine, we’ll be brought to a room; one that has some kind of bed made up. There will be people there. A great many of them, I suspect. You’ll be given a draught of Serenic Sleep; the drugs they use to sedate you for pairing and harvesting. And then…” He trailed off, his eyes going glassy with some terrible conclusion to his thoughts.

“And then he’ll force you to lay with me.” Mariner didn’t really have to phrase it as a question. He knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“And if you refuse?”

“He will kill me and find you another. I’m the expendable one in this, despite his appreciation of my…potential. You’re invaluable…and you will be unconscious.”

“Small favors, I suppose.”

Silence fell between them and as the minutes ticked by, neither seemed to be able to find the words to say what it is that they both needed to hear.

“Fen?” Mariner finally asked.

“Yes?”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad it will be you. And not…. you know…. just anyone.”

Fenris didn’t have the heart to tell him what would happen when he awoke. How he would feel his connection to the Fade, his very soul, diminished. How much it would hurt him both bodily and in spirit. How it would drain the very essence of him into oblivion; piece by stolen piece. As Mariner finally tried his first bit of food from the pile on his plate, Fenris bowed his head and muttered the first genuine prayer he’s ever said in his entire life.

“Hawke. Please find us. Soon.”


	11. Forgive Us Our Trespasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (So, I've been planning out the end of this story and I've realized that I have two equally plausible ways for Gallio Ravenica to bite it. Because, let's be honest, he's going to one way or another. Does anyone have any strong feelings about who should do him in? Fenris or Solas? Truthfully, I could go either way. - Nas)

**Chapter 11 – Forgive Us Our Trespasses**

Mariner slept fitfully that night and Fenris, pretty much not at all. He sat by the hearth, absently tending the fire as Mariner tossed and turned at the edge of the bed. Without a window and a view to the sky, it was difficult to tell what time it was but Fenris had to imagine they were nearing midnight, if not later. He wondered what Hawke was doing right then. Was he worried and pacing? Arguing with Varric over some hare-brained plan? Or maybe just sitting out on the veranda of the Merchant’s Guild looking up and wondering at a sky neither of the elves could see.

Mariner rolled over once more; snuffling into the blankets with a frustrated whimper. Fenris stood and walked over to the bed to check on the younger elf; imagining that he might actually be awake and simply too upset or self-conscious to say anything about it. But, to Fenris’ surprise, he was asleep; just tangled in the train of his coat, which he’d refused to take off again following Ravenica’s salacious inspection. 

With a sigh, Fenris sat down at the edge of the bed and began the process of gently unraveling the smaller elf from his own ensemble; careful not to touch him any more than was necessary to settle him back into a more comfortable slumber. Looking down on the Elusivir, Fenris finally took a moment to observe him up close. While he found Mariner attractive in a general sense, his feelings for him were distinctly protective and rather fraternal, almost familial if he had to put a word to it. The _ashvani_ might be more like a younger sibling to him; one that he felt a duty to look after and keep safe. But if Hawke didn’t reach them in just the next few days, he would have to become much more than that. 

Mariner hadn’t gone into much detail about his life, but he knew that the other elf was untried. Or, in the very least, that he had not experienced being fully taken by a male and that he had no specific intended bond-mate in mind to do so. That he would be completely unaware of his first pairing, and that it would be a Serenic harvesting at that, just made it all that much worse. Furthermore, Fenris had no idea if he’d even be able to work himself into the right state of mind to be able to get the job done when it came down to it. Raping an unconscious _ashvani_ at a party was not something he had ever considered or imagined doing but if he didn’t, he would likely be dead shortly afterwards and Mariner in a much worse state at the hands of someone else. In the end, if they were forced to go through with it, he at least hoped he would be able to minimize the damage and get Mariner through it alive and with his wits intact. They would have to deal with the rest later; after they had regained their freedom.

Scratching lightly at the lump still protruding from the back of his skull, Fenris shook his head and resigned himself to passing the time in a chair by the fireplace. It was possible that he would eventually drift off for an hour or two but in the meantime, he got up, found a suitable divan, sat back down, and let his thoughts wander to Hawke again. His big, awkward, dorky…wonderful fool of a lover. To say that he missed him was an understatement. Being separated was torture in and of itself and Fenris hadn’t realized how quickly he would grow accustomed to the mage’s warmth and presence at night. Or how much he would crave his affection as soon as it wasn’t readily available. But now that they were apart, Hawke was all he could think about and it was making for a pained and sorrowful melancholy. He just wanted to crawl back into his arms and go home. Fenris almost laughed at the thought of how much Varric would be complimenting him on the return of his brooding right now. He could almost hear it.  


Mariner, conversely, was having a far, far, different kind of night.

********

The Fade was choleric and distorted here. What should have been the granite and marble halls and columns of a high estate mansion had given way to rough stone caverns and twisting walkways of repurposed dock-planks and wharf pylons. Rather than upper-class murals, the walls were covered in runes and sigils painted in broad swipes of luminescent blue. Undisturbed moss covered almost every surface and made it seem as though no one had passed this way in a very long time. 

That he was lucid and aware did not surprise Mariner in the slightest. He often recalled his journeys into the Fade, as did most Elusivir Oracles, and given an _ashvani’s_ natural affinity for the spiritual realms, he was better equipped to navigate the labyrinth of dreams than most. What did surprise him was that this place was so completely alien to any other he’d experienced previously. Cities such as Amaranthine usually remembered something of their former selves on the other side of the Veil. But what should therefore have been the ethereal recollections of an old fishing village, in line with the city’s history, appeared even older. More primal in its nature; as though the land were thinking back to a time before humans had ever settled here. 

Mariner found this curious for two reasons. Firstly, he had no memory of leaving the room and finding his way down to caverns. He usually did, given that the Fade almost never presented him with such images without at least a little exploration and imagination on his part. Which led him to the second. There had been no wolf and no butterflies: the very things that had dominated his visions for more than twenty years.

The sound of water alerted him to a chamber down below the shifting walkway. Finding no other reason to remain where he was, the young elf followed the bridge until it ended in a high archway, expertly hewn from the stone around it to form the image of two elves raising intertwined banners. On the left banner was carved the icon of a wolf whose fur was rendered as flames, and on the right a rearing stag whose antlers became the branches of a great tree. From their respective positions, however, Mariner could not tell if the stag was meant to be to be fleeing the fire or defending the tree from it. He did note though, with some amusement, that there was going to be a wolf in this dream after all. If an abstract one.

There was also something in Elvish carved beneath each of the figures but it was hard to read. Only the first few lines were discernable:

_First came Death, then a grave ne’er hollow.  
Where the arrow takes them, I dare not follow_

Nonsense. Poetic, but little more than nonsense.

Mariner chuffed lightly and continued apace, walking fearlessly forward as he could do only in dreams. While he had little confidence in his oracular skills to read the signs and symbols he so often encountered in the Fade, he still found them fascinating, if gibberish. As such, he had no idea what this one might mean, though he wondered if it could be because some Elvhen ruin once existed in the space now occupied by the high streets of Amaranthine. And this was all that was left of it. Stranger things had happened after all.

Beyond the archway was a kind of grotto: a deep, underground well-spring surrounded by vaulted caverns on every side and thickly overgrown with weeds and ferns. Everything around him was dimly lit by a star-light source within the water; rippling about in greens and blues until the entire chamber appeared to dance with abandon. But it was then that he saw them. High overhead, taller than giants, were two statues facing one another across the pool. Like those over the archway, they were clearly elves. Their long, curved, ears carved flat to compliment the high angle of their cheekbones and straight, aquiline, noses. Each wore an expression of grim determination, or maybe it was grief; art was always ambiguous like that. But Mariner was quick to ascertain that the left-facing figure was that of an elf with long tresses pulled back into wrapped braids at the temples and was cut from a glittering white stone with veins of silver and pale blue crisscrossed along its surface. The right-facing statue was, in contrast, made from black shale polished to a gleam. This figure also possessed long waves of hair but it was made to look wild and unkempt by working in the white quartz impurities within the stone to seem as though the carefully crafted whorls were matted and crumbling.

And so the two elves remained like that; staring unseeing at one another across a still, limpid, pond, looking as though they each desperately wished to reach out and touch the other if only for the fact that they had been created too far apart. Mariner felt uncharacteristically sad at the tableau before him and was about to turn to leave when a noise startled him from the undergrowth.

A ragged creature, with gangly limbs and halting steps greeted him from the edge of the water. It was elf-like, if such a thing could be said of an entity that looked more brambles and thorns than flesh. But it had that which was recognizable as a face, covered in folds of wrinkled, sagging, skin; patches of wispy white hair on an otherwise bald pate; and nimble, stick-like, fingers that absently traced arcane patterns in the air whenever it moved. It was an odd sort of Fade Spirit to be sure.

Mariner remained cautious, however. There was no telling if this was a friendly entity or a demonic one but it was relatively clear that it inhabited this place as a matter of course and was not likely to be immediately hostile. It watched him cautiously for several minutes before speaking.

“I…. haf…. seen you. Miss’t…missed you in the fore.” It rattled with a high, reedy, tone. The words came with difficulty and Mariner guessed that the spirit was not often accustomed to speaking with interlopers.

“Who are you?” He asked, keeping his voice low and unthreatening.

“I…I…am…kep…kept…keepers of sis…sis all place.”

“Are you a good spirit?”

The creature did not seem to know immediately how to respond to that and spent considerable time searching for a reply. It finally went with, “For you is.”

The grammatical construction was confusing, but Mariner decided to go with it as an affirmative. “Alright. What is this place then? Can you tell me why you’re here? Can you tell me why I’m here?”

As the spirit moved and began to make its way along the shoreline, what Mariner had first assumed to be hanging lichens turned out to be some kind of torn clothing. In profile, the spirit also had more of a mummy-like countenance rather than a gnarled, rooty, one and the young elf began to worry that he may be in the presence of the elder dead, as opposed to the imagined apparitions of the Fade. It paused and gestured towards the statues gazing down overhead.

“I am…to memory. For them. The world…forgets. But in the water…remembers always.”

Mariner once again looked up at the icons, folding his arms over his chest as he scrutinized their details. There wasn’t much, as both figures were relatively simple and geometric in design, but he was able to catch a hint of additional carving along the far wall that seemed as though it might have once been one of the statue’s arms. But it was gone now, having fallen into the water and disappeared beneath whatever was giving off the broken strands of light.

“Who are they?” He asked, absently; still staring up at the icons above him.

The spirit turned and tilted its head towards him at an unnatural angle. “Can you…nah…not see?”

“I don’t recognize them, no.”

It was a dry, papery, laugh that followed and Mariner quite did not like the echo it made reverberating off the cragged walls. The spirit replied, pointing its chin upwards to the figure in black shale. “Tha is him…him…He Who Roams Beyond. The Hunter Alone. The Great Wolf, Fen’Harel.”

“Fen’Harel?” Mariner queried, more to himself than the keeper. “The one the Dalish call the Dread Wolf? But I always thought he was depicted by himself. And not as an elf but as a fearsome…beast?”

The thing smiled. Or, at least, that’s what Mariner hoped it was doing in baring cracked, yellowed, teeth in his direction. “We haf come a’fore this. We haf known him a’fore the Fall.”

Still not understanding the spirit’s meaning, Mariner tried again. “And the other? Who is that then?”

“Aras Telvani or Arlathan.” It breathed reverently, rolling its alveolar r’s and making a kind respectful genuflect with its needle-like fingers.

Mariner pondered for a moment. His Ancient Elvish wasn’t exactly fluent but he understood the gist of the words. “The White…Hart? The White Hart of Arlathan? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“No. No one hears this. No more now. Almost gone now.”

“What does the Aras Telvani have to do with Fen’Harel?”

The spirit slowly folded in on itself so as to sit on the stump of a rotted tree equidistant between the two statues. Back-lit by the bright waters beyond it rolled its head to look up at him but otherwise grew uncannily still and pensive; it’s pinpoint eyes boring into him with an uncomfortable fervor. The story it set out to tell was even more unsettling.

“This is not the Dread Wolf that you know. Nor the White Hart he now hunts.” It began, its words becoming clearer and more enunciated the longer it spoke. “These are… the Elvhenildë, the Lovers, who came together in the First Age. Who raised up the ancient clans into the First Cities and led the Elvhen in peace under the wise counsel of Mythal and the Creators of all green and growing things. There’s was the order, the heartbeat of life set in its proper time. The balance between worlds. They say that the Great Wolf first encountered the White Hart as he stood over a stag killed in the hunt, and it was this song of gratitude and lament that ensnared an untamable spirit. From that moment…they could not be separated but nor could they ever truly come together. The Great Wolf would give chase, the White Hart would escape, they would meet in the deep and join there in secret, only to begin again with the dawn, just as the moon follows the sun. Where the Hart was Light and Life, the Wolf was Darkness and Death, and so they danced with one another always, never doubting the love that bound one to the other. Never doubting that where one walked, the other must soon appear.”

Mariner smiled and hugged his shoulders. “Seems like such a sweet story. I’m surprised the elves stopped telling it.”

The creature wavered, seemingly perturbed by something in the air. “That is because Betrayal came upon them. The Nightmare descended. He tricks them, the Forgotten Ones. He tricks them into the Abyss and locks them away.”

Mariner sighed. “Yes, I know this part. Every elf knows this part.”

“They do not.” It retorted indignantly. “They do not say how the battle raged. They do not say how the Veil descended and in its doing, the Great Wolf learned too late what he had wrought. The White Hart was torn from the cycle and because of that, Arlathan was doomed to fall. The Great Tree could not grow, the order of life could not continue, and the White Hart was forced onto the fields of war. Such would not have mattered though, as Fen’Harel intended to be locked away with those he had betrayed and to leave the Elvhen safe; with the love of his love, that was all that was love.”

“I don’t understand.” Mariner interrupted the spirit’s distantly lyrical reverie. “Do you mean to say that Fen’Harel intended to imprison himself along with the Forgotten Ones when he did what he did?”

The keeper glanced up to the statues with a weary look. “Gone forever, yes. Gone and gone forever. Pay the price for his pride. But it was not to be, for the Hart came for him, as the Hart must do. He was about to end it, about to close the world but the other was swifter than he. The angry gods lashed out at the Rebel Wolf, wanting to tear him apart, to destroy him in their vengeance before they were cast out. But the Hart took a hold of him and pulled him back, ripping into the Veil as it fell and held on to him so that he could not descend. And that…was the end…of all that was Aras Telvani.”

Mariner pursed his lips and scowled. “You mean the White Hart was killed?”

The spirit appeared to shiver and become, momentarily, indistinct. “Shattered. The deva spark within him crushed into slivers that rained down upon the land, piercing holes into the Veil, and seeding its magic into the soil….” It glanced downwards into the pool at its feet. “…and into the waters. Where the larger shards fell, sacred places emerged.” It raised its hands up to indicate the grotto they now stood in. “Remnants though. Reflections of what once was. But…”

Mariner clenched his fingers in consternation but looked up to give the frightful creature his full attention. 

“But…” It repeated. “Whispers begin again. The essence of the Hart might still lives, they are saying. That the core of the spark was flung into the world and is there yet waiting to be reborn. But none can say for certain; the White Hart does not come, and the Dread Wolf still hunts alone. He dreams of his lover though, and seeks his image, his simulacrum, in the Fade. I have heard his weeping howls in the distance when he cannot find him and his cries of joy when his memory appears. It is all that is left to him…He has mourned the loss of his heart for a thousand years and more." The spirit was frustratingly ambiguous in its use of "heart" in this phrase but Mariner did not request clarification. "Chasing phantoms in the deep for one more glimpse of respite before the path of dinan'shiral inevitably claims him at last."

Mariner thought back to all of his dreams before now. Of the wolf racing through the darkened woods at his heels, of his tracks on the snow pack high on a mountain peak where the sky was so vast as to encompass the whole of all being. He thought of all the times he had chased that wolf or that wolf had been chasing him, even up to the point of leading him off of the road before his caravan had been annihilated and burned to the ground by raiders on a mission to supply new slaves to the Imperial rich. He thought of the glade where he had first encountered the spirit whose name was Solas, and the way he could still feel his touch burning into his skin. How he could almost taste him on the air or hear his voice in the quiet hours of the night. Mariner then began to wonder if his abilities as an Oracle weren’t quite so dismal after all, and if what he was really seeing was the Fade attempting to tell him the story of the Elvhenildë. Or something like it. But why would it want him to know this? Where did it mean to take him?

“Can you help me interpret something?” He asked the restless spirit, still sitting atop its broken stump. “What do butterflies have to do with the story of the Lovers?”

The spirit stared back at him, unmoving. “There are no butterflies.” It retorted, rather sharply. “Only dust motes in the breeze, fragile fragments of a scattered soul awaiting transformation. Rebirth. Or final death.” 

The dream shimmered at the edges; a warning Mariner had long learned to read as a sign of his immanent awakening. He took a last look around the cavern; taking what bit of solace he could in its peaceful serenity. He already knew that what awaited him on the morning promised only fear and pain, and that it was only going to be a matter of time before Gallio Ravenica saw fit to accost him again. Despite Fenris’ claims that masters did not generally engage in sexual intercourse with their Serenic slaves, again with a mind towards the “product,” he knew from the look in that contemptible man’s eyes that he would not be spared such as attack. Ravenica had every intention of eventually taking him, of that he was sure. And when he did, escape into the Fade might be his only recourse to sanity.

“Thank you.” He spoke out to the spirit. “I have enjoyed your account. Perhaps I will see you again.”

The spirit nodded and watched him go. As the ashvani disappeared down the walkway and back through the Veil, it had but one parting statement. “Call out to him, little one. Call out to him and the Dread Wolf…. shall take you.”


	12. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> (Also, so it apparently took me forever and a day, but I finally sat down and watched all of Kirkwall Coffee on YouTube. Needless to say, I'm sorry there's only one season. If you haven't seen it, you should. Cheers!) - Nas

**Chapter 12 – Desperate Measures**

Hawke stared across the table at Varric in disbelief.

“You…you want me to become…a slave owner?!”

“Not for real, Hawke.” The dwarf admonished with a roll of his eyes. “But if we’re going to take on Gallio Ravenica and all of the resources and capital he has at his disposal, we need to make this look as official as possible. There isn’t a lot of room for error here.”

Liam Hawke returned his attention to the sheaf of documents piled in his lap. Among them included two complete ownership dossiers for both Fenris and Mariner, a lengthy accounting of their health and various treatments spanning more than five years, and a stamped transfer of inheritance linking them to the holdings of the Hawke-Arnell estate. As forgeries went, they were spectacular.

“Varric.” Hawke sighed, waving one of the papers in the air over his head. “How is any of this going to get them back? It’s just…records. Fake records.”

“Pretty much all slave records are fake, Hawke.” Varric replied with a smug grin. “It’s like I told you before. Ravenica has been spending a fair amount of time and money over the last week or so having exact documents like this drawn up on each of the slaves he’s taken possession of. He’s paid off the finest forgers, greased the palms of the highest officials, all for the sake of ensuring that everything is in tip-top shape for sending his four new _ashvani_, and now Fenris, back to the Imperium. Good thing I also happen to be on some very good terms with those same forgers and administrators.”

“So, you want me to impersonate a slave owner?”

“Look, Hawke. We don’t know where Fenris and Mariner are right now. But we do know where they’re going to be. And if you’re going to go head-first into this party with the intent of freeing them, you’re going to have to do it in a way that gets people backing off your case. And nothing says high court drama like the Champion of Kirkwall bursting in on the festivities to reclaim his highly-valued stolen property.”

“But won’t Ravenica know it’s all a ruse?”

“Of course he will. Everything this guy does is basically an elaborate ruse. That’s hardly the point.” Varric leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers over his chest with a huff. “But if he wants to dispute your claim, he’d have to somehow prove that his records were real and yours were fake. That would put him at risk of exposing the entire operation. I’m willing to bet that, when the chips are down, he’ll part with Mariner and Fenris; under duress sure, but all the same, to try and avoid losing the other three.”

“So, we just leave the other _ashvani_ to their…fates? I don’t really think that’s going to go down well.”

“No, no. But one thing at a time. We can make a bid for the other elves after we’re sure that we’ve got the first two. Besides, I’m willing to bet that if you make enough noise, he’ll be pretty spooked and he’ll start making mistakes trying to get them out of Amaranthine.”

Hawke thumbed idly through the papers. Part of the reason the records were so detailed and so accurate had a lot to do with Varric’s personal knowledge of Fenris and their experiences, years ago, helping him to finally escape the pursuit of Hadriana and Danarius. In fact, it looked as though Varric might have even managed to dig up some of Fenris’ old documentation, since several pages referenced his original name, included sketches of his tattoo patterning, and mentioned specifics about his sister, their mother, and their former master’s household. In a weird way, Hawke had to admit that Varric’s oddball questions to Fenris during their adventures as well as his story-writing skills had served him abnormally well in this case. It would be nearly impossible to deny that these records belonged to the lyrium-branded elf and his erstwhile Elusivir companion.

Mariner’s documentation was, unsurprisingly, sparser but much of that was attributed to his younger age and the fact that, according to several finely calligraphed lines, he had only recently been acquired by Hawke as a companion and potential mate for his loyal bodyguard and manservant. No mention was made anywhere of pending sales, transfers, or prices short of an acquisition bill noting their individual and combined estimated value to his estate. It was all so official and impersonal it made the mage a little sick to his stomach.

“So that’s the plan then?” Hawke looked up and scowled. “I go to this party, as some kind of Free Marches noble; ticked off that someone illegally took my personal slaves and I’m here to get them back?”

“Thing is,” Varric added. “For the most part, we’re even telling the truth. So, if anyone starts asking around or looks into the problem, it’ll come up that you really are Liam Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, holder of the Hawke-Arnell estate, and…”

“…and on the run from the Templars. Or…did you forget that part?”

Varric snorted; an affectation that was half aggravation and half amusement. “You forget, Oh, Lord Champion, that mages are highly regarded in the Imperium and you have a pretty good hand in with the throne of Orlais as well. And, once I’m through with your wardrobe, not a soul in the high courts is going to doubt that you are the master of all you survey.”

Hawke groaned, already imagining what manner of ostentatious and ridiculous looking outfit Varric was going to squeeze him in to. Court fashion was, in his opinion, garish and slightly clownish and he wasn’t looking forward to a pair of tights riding up his backside for the entire ordeal. Though maybe that would help fuel his bad mood further. Conversely, some of the mage-coats weren’t so bad, or the hooded robes, but he doubted Varric was going to let him off that easily. The dwarf had a chance to go for broke and he was never one to pass up an opportunity like that.

“Also, you should take this.” The dwarf raised something in his palm, though it was clear from his mannerisms that he was uncomfortable with the object.

Hawke took it without hesitation and inspected the small, round, lacquered compact he now held. “What is it?”

“Serenic.”

Hawke nearly dropped the fragile wooden pot, no larger than the width of three fingers, straight onto the floor before he managed to juggle it successfully and then right himself. He held the now disgusting object back out towards Varric with a sour look.

“What the hell would you give me this for?! No! No way. Take it back! Get rid of it.”

“If we’re going to sell this, you’re going to have to fit the part in every way, Hawke. You’re going to have to convince Ravenica that you’re on the level with completely not being on the level. Get my drift?”

“You want me to give this to him?!”

“No! Maker’s Breath, you’re bad at this. You’re going to go barreling in to a noble’s party, all wounded pride and indignant ego, pitch an unholy fit while waving your papers around and complaining about stolen property so that when Gallio Ravenica inevitably drags you off the floor and into his private offices to interrogate you stupid, you’ll have all the proper evidence on your person that this claim isn’t going to go away unanswered. So get a grip. There’s only a small dram of the stuff left in there anyway and that’s the hook. You’re pissed up for a fight because you’re a haughty mage who is running out of his favorite Magic Pearl.”

“Magic Pearl?” Hawke raised an incredulous eyebrow at the euphemism, rolling the compact between his fingers. “You know what this stuff is made of, right?”

“Yep.” Varric rejoined with a wry smile. “So, I suggest you don’t open that. As in, ever. Not if you value your future capacity to toss of a bit of dry wit now and then, anyway.”

Hawke chewed his lip and slowly lowered the Serenic vessel onto his lap. “Can I ask you a…gross question?”

Varric seemed to have anticipated as much. “You wanna know how they get it?”

“Kinda.” Came the mage’s response. “But I didn’t really want Fenris to try and describe it. He didn’t seem all that…pleased…with the last conversation we had about it.”

“You know it’s an _ashvani_ thing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Best I can explain for you, Hawke, is that it has something to do with the way elf girl parts work. But unlike their more obviously female compatriots, the ashvani have some sort of a “pocket” up inside; just below where their womb joins up with the rest of them.” He actually made the air-quotes as he spoke. “From what I know, this pocket secretes some kind of an unguent. It’s like a thick, oily, substance or some such thing. As in, it normally does this and doesn’t bother them one wit. If you have sex with one of them however, wait, no, I should be more specific. If another elf has sex with one of them and leaves the evidence of his passing inside, you know, so to speak; it all mixes together and that’s what gives you the raw material to make the best thing the Circle ever had going for it.”

Hawke blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ok, well, I wasn’t exactly expecting the bats and the bees but I think I get it. That’s what Fenris meant by having to harvest the stuff then?”

“It’s not pretty.” The dwarf shrugged. “But, then again, nothing the Imperium gets its fingers into is all that pretty. Most Serenic slavers use a type of curved metal rod they call a Lignum. It’s got a rounded top and a fluted center; kind of looks like a partially-straightened bell hook, if you ask me. Far as I can tell though, they just shove it up inside the poor elf and use it to literally milk the stuff out of them. I even once knew this Tevinter guy who made Ligna. Really expensive, crazy, things all made out of gold or silver or carved out of ivory and bone. Apparently, magisters really get off on having their own personal kit made for harvesting _ashvani_ slaves. Or, at least they did, before they ended up killing the majority of them off.”

“And that’s what he’s going to do with Mariner then?”

“Oh, yeah.” Varric nodded, his face set into a determined frown. “And I’m betting it will be with Fenris’ help.”

********

“Do you always look so sullen?” Gallio Ravenica spoke up just loudly enough to distract Fenris from his, admittedly dour, thoughts. 

“You…would prefer I constantly be smiling at you?” Fenris meant to school his tone into something more neutral but he couldn’t help the notes of sarcasm that still managed to tinge his voice.

The man wasn’t facing him, thankfully. Rather, Ravenica, along with a large contingent of his guard and a room decorated with a number of his most ardent court admirers, was standing before a full-length mirror as his tailor fussed around a new suit of clothes. Fenris stood a few feet away from him, holding a small chest of tapes and sewing notions, as he had been instructed to do. Every now and then, a gasp of wonder or a giggle would erupt out of one of the onlookers. Sometimes in response to something Ravenica did or said and other times in response to Fenris or Mariner, who was sitting on a small divan next to the mirror. Fenris had no doubt that the entire reason for their seemingly pointless presence here was to show the both of them off to his sycophants and to get tongues wagging at court in anticipation of the upcoming party.

Having been accustomed to just this exact display in his own time as a slave, Fenris was somewhat less perturbed by the whole thing than Mariner clearly was. As much as he had tried to convince the younger elf to develop a game-face for dealing with their erstwhile master and his coterie, Mariner had yet to become adept at hiding his disgust for the proceedings. Instead, he merely sat quietly, if a little stiffly, on the opulent cushions and said nothing to anyone. He hadn’t even responded to several questions Ravenica had directed at him specifically but to Fenris relief, the Tevinter magister was still mostly amused with his novelties and wasn’t inclined to punish either of them for the disobedience. A kind of patience that Fenris was certain would run out sooner rather than later.

“Well, certainly not.” Ravenica finally responded. “But it wouldn’t kill you to lighten up just a little, now would it? Nothing you need be all that concerned about today or even tomorrow, really. Besides, I think it would be better for your mate to see you in calmer spirits and not quite so pensive.”

Fenris glanced at Mariner. He could certainly hear the exchange but he gave no indication that he was listening. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Was all he replied with. Once again, he could almost imagine Varric standing there, chiding him for being so consistently morose. For brooding, as he would put it.

“It’s not like this is anything new to you, now is it?”

Fenris startled slightly and nearly glared at the man now carefully inspecting a piece of red embroidery. “I’m…sorry?”

“Oh, come now.” Ravenica waved his hand dismissively, still not bothering to even look up at the two elves. “It’s obvious that I am not your first master. You’re from Tevinter and elven and you are clearly well-adjusted to a slave’s life. Obedient and decorous in such a way that you must have been exceptionally trained in the demeanors expected of a high-class retainer. Not to mention your lyrium-branding. You were, no doubt, once someone’s prized masterpiece. So, tell me, where is your previous master?”

“He’s dead.”

“Ah, I see. Wandered off after the poor soul had a heart attack, did you?”

“No. I killed him.”

Ravenica straightened and turned; glowering down at Fenris from his considerable height. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Ravenica regarded the unflinching elf for several moments before visibly relaxing again, back into his usual ebullient persona. “I shall be very mindful of you then, Fenris. No sense in any of us getting into dust-ups no one needs to have. Though, I should think that you might be put to better use in my personal protection contingent. Something we’ll perhaps consider for the future. Now, hand me that belt, would you?”

As Fenris did so, Ravenica took another side-long glance at Mariner; once more letting his eyes drift up from the smaller elf’s feet, to his legs and torso, and finally to his face. “You, on the other hand, my little _ashvani_…” He announced to all who could hear. “…are obviously not quite so accustomed to our ways. Your manners have yet to be properly ingrained.”

Mariner bristled but finally turned to acknowledge that he was being spoken to.

“Quite alright, though.” Ravenica continued jovially. “For now, at least. I do like a bit of spirit in my attendants and you are quite delightful. So vivacious!”

Several of the courtesans had surreptitiously begun to approach the two elves but still none dared to actually attempt to touch either of them. Mariner, however, was beginning to grow annoyed with how close two buxom women in large, pointed, hats were getting to him. Every time he turned around it seemed as though their seats had slid another few inches across the carpet and each would be giggling and looking at him from over the rims of their lace fans.

“I suppose you think I ought to be grateful for that, don’t you?” Mariner challenged, eliciting several more gasps and exclamations from the crowd. Inwardly, Fenris cringed. Despite all his warnings, Mariner still seemed hell-bent on picking a fight. Gallio Ravenica, however, merely smiled and placed the roll of fabric over his arm onto the chest Fenris was holding. With an arrogant saunter, he strolled the few feet to where Mariner was sitting.

“Gratitude is not something I have any expectation of you, little one. In fact, I do believe by the look in your eyes that you hate me right now. Is that accurate?”

His cool, confident, tone gave Mariner an immediate sense of dis-ease but he squared up anyway. “Yes. I think that’s perfectly accurate. I find you to be a vile sort of thing. A horrid wretch devoid of a soul. Repulsive. Vulgar. A pervert beyond contempt.”

“My, my.” The imposing man said with amusement, resulting in a titter of approval from the court. “Don’t you have quite the vocabulary, and no hesitation in using it. The good news in that is I suppose it leaves something for me to grateful for instead. Do you want to know what that is?”

He didn’t. Not in the slightest. Mariner instantly felt like curling in on himself; anything to get away from Gallio Ravenica’s face as it leaned down to nearly rest on his shoulder, the man’s mouth less than an inch from his left ear.

“I’m grateful…” He whispered in a dark, sultry, tone. “For whomever it was that taught you such fiery repartee. Because I am so very much looking forward…to breaking you. I don’t care if it takes a few weeks, a few years, or a decade; there will come a day when you will drop to your knees every time I call for you and you will lay beneath me and spread your thighs whenever I command you to. I _will_ tame you. And as I do, you’re going to be a right delicious fuck, aren’t you? Tight, hot, and fighting it the entire way, until you’re screaming for your master’s mercy. And even when you do, I’ll hardly think to stop until I’m satisfied that every curve of your body has been mine to explore.” With that, a slick tongue traced the outer edge of his ear, running from the tip to the lobe and ending in a biting kiss at the side of his neck. Mariner could do nothing to suppress the shiver of loathing that fluttered through him.

“You’ll ruin your precious Serenic then.” The _ashvani_ hissed.

“Hardly.” The man laughed softly into his hair, gently petting his cheek with his thumb. “I just won’t come inside of you. That, I’ll leave for Fenris. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. But I think that you will find that there is nothing wrong with your mouth or any part of the rest of you, for that matter.”

“You’re sick. Everything about you is sick.” Mariner replied, his voice low and strained. “And you’ll pay for this. I swear it.”

Another unwanted kiss brushed over his chin. “Not before I’ve gotten every bit of my money’s worth out of you though, my lovely.”

As Ravenica stalked smugly back to the mirror to take up his fitting once again, Mariner chanced a look at Fenris, who was gazing at him with a mixture of irritation and sympathy. The party was only two days away, they still didn’t know where the other _ashvani_ were, and there had been, as of yet, no sign of Hawke. If he was coming to the rescue, he really needed to get here fast. But as Mariner pondered all the possibilities that might arise within the next week, he came to at least one steadfast conclusion.

One way or another, Gallio Ravenica needed to die.


	13. May the Dread Wolf Take You - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I'm away all weekend, so I am posting this week's chapter early! Enjoy! And, as always, let me know what you think in the comments. I'm really enjoying writing this one, so hopefully you're having as much fun reading it. - Nas)

**Chapter 13 – May the Dread Wolf Take You – Part 1**

Days blended into nights, which became the same as hours and minutes, and the morning of the end began as any other. With the same sense of looming dread both Mariner and Fenris had noticed but never mentioned in conversation to the other. It was the kind of suffocating, distracting, all-pervasive tension that caused them both to fall silent at odd times and to exchange worried glances whenever footsteps clocked down the outside hallway. Their only sense of actual time, however, was measured in the meals they were served by well-guarded servants and by the arrival of new sets of clothing in the early afternoon of their sixth day.

Fenris was actually slightly surprised at the offerings on hand. For the most part, it was simple tunics and leggings, a new linen shift to replace the one Mariner typically wore beneath his caravan coat, and a pair of warmer top-coats in the standard Tevinter style. Honestly, he had expected something far more flamboyant, with glittery threads and other markers of wealth to make the new slaves shine in the limelight. But instead, it looked as if Gallio Ravenica had a mind to keep their clothing practical rather than pretty, though the fabrics and stitching were quite fine and would hold up well to long-term use.

For the first time since their arrival, Mariner complied with the implicit demands set before him without complaint: changing into the new shift before re-donning his long coat and retying the waist wrap loosely over his hips. Fenris sighed and changed his tunic as well. The one he’d been left with was not in the best of shape to begin with and he still hadn’t managed to get the bloodstains out of the collar. As Mariner fretted with a few extra ties, the elder of the two elves sat down onto the edge of the hearth and addressed the _ashvani_ in a gentle voice.

“Is there anything you want to say to me?”

Mariner paused and looked up, meeting Fenris’ eyes halfway up. He stood thoughtfully for a second before returning to his fussing with the fit of the shift. “Is there something you want me to say?” He replied.

“No.” Fenris shrugged, picking at his thumbnail absently. “But if there is anything in particular weighing on you, I’m willing to hear it.”

Mariner huffed and dropped the last of the lacings onto a nearby table. “There is nothing that needs to be said. It’s just a matter of survival now. Whatever he demands from you, you should do it. I don’t suppose I’m going to notice the difference either way.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to see that you are not hurt overly much. And when you wake up, I’ll be here.”

Mariner’s laugh was derisive but not specifically directed at Fenris. “I don’t think you’ll have the option one way or another.”

Fenris nodded; a sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He slowly drew breath to speak again.

A thunderous knock at the door startled them both as the heavy oak planks immediately swung wide to reveal the now-familiar personal guard of the Ravenica household. Six of them, all armed, trooped into the room to take stock of the elves within. It was clear that their armor had all been recently polished and beneath the heavy chain and steel plates, most of them now wore brightly-colored velvet arming coats and had adorned their helmets with sprays of red feathers. For a company of private mercenaries, they were almost…festive.

Fenris stood to the accompanying clank of several blades pointed his way. But as Mariner stepped up to his side, the leader of the blackguard came forward to inspect them. He said nothing. Only looked them over to ensure that they’d taken proper advantage of the clothing brought to them earlier and that neither of them would appear to be on the brink of attempting to escape or some other such ill-conceived plan to avoid their fates.

“Good.” He snarled from beneath the cheek bars of his helm. “Ready?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Fenris answered anyway. “And if we weren’t?”

The guard just seemed to roll his eyes at the sarcasm before pointing at the door and motioning the two of them with the flat of his blade. It was a clear enough command. Mariner wrung his hands for a moment before following the first two guards out. Fenris followed shortly behind him; the rest of the retinue in tow to form a rather grim parade in the sunless hall outside the relative comforts of their prison.

If Mariner had never before experienced the long mile of the condemned, this was as close to it as he imagined he’d get without actually being executed. The guards directed them through an ever-increasingly opulent set of hallways filled with tapestries and veiled in swaths of gossamer curtains. Mahogany furniture dotted the alcoves and expensive-looking oil paintings adorned the open walls but they encountered no other people than themselves. No servants, no passing guests, nothing at all but the two elves and six armored men with swords. Mariner shuddered. He tried desperately not to despair but couldn’t suppress the tremble that had started roiling in his gut with each step closer to their destination.

Some minutes later, the tinkling sound of laughter began to drift down the winding, carpeted, corridors. Just ahead, a wide set of double doors sat open with two richly-dressed men lounging on a settee nearest to a basin of wine. As they continuously dipped their cups and drained them, they could be heard snickering and making vulgar comments about, presumably, some of the other, less-desirable, signatures that happened to be on tonight’s guest list. As the troupe approached, however, they were instantly on their feet, peering at the two elves with lewd interest. 

The head of the guard waved them aside as Mariner and Fenris were thusly escorted into the grand ballroom. It was breath-taking, both in its excessive luxury and in the horror that the _ashvani_ felt upon arriving in it. The vaulted ceilings soared above them; resplendent with frescoes of mythic scenes, half-nude figures carousing in a fountain, and gilt buttressing that joined each scene to more paintings that dripped down the walls in unnaturally bright colors. High above their heads, a stained-glass chandelier was lit from within by a hundred candles and reverberated in time with the vibrations of so many people dancing and chattering along to so many musicians strategically and acoustically placed throughout the room. There were tables overflowing with food and flowered centerpieces, classical statues artfully arranged with potted plants, and chairs and cushions thrown every which direction, upon which sat at least another hundred equally affluent guests using their poses and flirtatious gestures to show off their substantive dress. Women pranced in floor-length gowns sewn with gems and golden coins while the men stood about, necks arched and shoulders set back, to display the brooches and pearled pins clipped into the fronts of their coats.

As they made their way through the crowd, a hush quickly fell and all eyes turned to goggle at the comparatively plain-looking elves being brought into their midst. But even dressed modestly, there was no doubt among anyone present that these two were extraordinary. In effect, Ravenica’s choice to dress them in such minimalist couture had been a stroke of genius, serving only to highlight their individually unique qualities and making the promise of their pairing all the more alluring. Once in the center of the parquet floor, the guards stopped, surrounded Mariner and Fenris in a protective circle and banged their heels against the wood as a way to call the gathering to order. The masses closed in with eager anticipation.

“Welcome! Welcome!” A now familiar voice rose up. From between a large man in a green frock coat and a smaller woman in layers of chiffon, Gallio Ravenica emerged triumphant. Raising both hands up in the manner of a conquering hero, he approached Mariner and Fenris with a broad grin, calling out to the crowd in a booming voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen! At last, what you have all been so patiently waiting for. You’ve likely heard so much already but may I present to you, the newest and finest additions to our evening. Fenris and Mariner.” He paused a moment to allow his words their intended effect. “For many of you, I realize that this is your first time actually seeing an _ashvani_ in the flesh, as they are so sadly rare these days, but I do admonish you to look and not to touch. Mariner is quite sensitive to disruption, you might have noticed. We have a very fine night ahead of us all and there is no need to risk any upset or undue stress, I think you’ll agree.”

The murmurs grew louder and the crowd pressed in. Mariner shrunk back but found Fenris quickly at his back.

“It’s alright.” He whispered. “Just try to look past them. Focus on something else. Let your mind go elsewhere.”

“This way now, my pets!”

The guard nudged them forward and as the two elves followed Ravenica across the grand floor and into one of the adjoining rooms, Mariner thought he might be getting to the point of fainting. He felt hot and a little sick, his heart beating too fast in his chest. The noise all around him was beginning to blend together into a combustible cacophony that threatened to spin him into madness. But then he saw it and quite nearly dropped to his knees immediately; prepared to beg for respite from what was to come.

At the far end of the room, surrounded by couches and overstuffed seats was a low, flat, pallet about eight feet long and six feet wide. It was done up with a few pillows piled at the head and a ruffled skirt for decoration but was otherwise hard, empty, and bare. At each side, long chains ending in padded manacles were coiled up and set near the edges. At the foot, a kneeling table with an ornate box left open to exhibit the tools of the Serenic trade. A Lignum made of polished silver and resting in a velvet case. Several small, wooden, compacts; a pot of spices; a kind of palette knife with an ebony handle; and a line of labeled glass bottles all containing various tinctures. Even from this distance, Mariner could easily read the finely-penned script: Witherstalk, Elfroot, Lyrium, and something he hadn’t expected, Deep Mushrooms distilled in alcohol.

In a barely suppressed panic, he turned to Fenris; unable to speak but his eyes clearly betraying the mess of terrors racing through his mind. Fenris took the moment to grab him by the shoulders and steady the both of them in a brief embrace. “Breathe.” He whispered lowly. “Just breathe.”

Mariner nodded, slowly and stiffly, but it was all he could manage not to start crying. His breaths were already coming in fits and gasps, and his body was shaking so hard he hardly thought he would even be able to make it the next few feet without collapsing to the ground. Though, he had no doubt that Ravenica would happily make him crawl his way there if the opportunity presented itself. Mariner bit into his tongue to try to center himself better and looked up into Fenris eyes to find them weary and compassionate but attentive.

On impulse he grabbed the elder elf’s hand and pressed it to his waist. Thankfully, to the milling crowd it simply looked as though the two elves were sharing a fleeting moment of affection before their mating was to begin but to Fenris, it was a moment of shock. He did not register the meaning behind the _ashvani’s_ gesture at first, but with a reflexive curl of his fingers he immediately felt it. Just below the thick seam that circled the smaller elf’s waist was the hard edge of the dagger he’d given him days before. He could clearly feel the end of the pommel and detect the straight edge of the blade rolled into the darts of the train. He had no idea what he was meant to do with this information however, and met Mariner’s gaze with a questioning expression.

“Whatever you need to do.” Mariner whispered back. “I trust you.”

He then pulled away and, with the little dignity he could muster, stalked across the room to the bed set up for them. To Ravenica’s great pleasure, the ashvani then sat down at the edge of the mattress, folded his hands into his lap, and waited. With some additional prodding, Fenris finally managed to follow suit and joined the other by sitting down next to him. Though, he could hardly keep the rising rage out of his posture as he did so. His temper was controllable but hardly bridled.

With a flourish, Gallio Ravenica once again addressed the crowd from the far side of the kneeling table as he expertly began to mix the bottles together into a matching chalice he’d brought along for precisely this purpose.

“Now,” he began genially. “As many of you know, we haven’t had the opportunity to mix a proper batch of Serenic Sleep for quite some time. This recipe is, however, an old family concoction that my grandfather developed. It has the standard doses of Witherstalk and Lyrium we’re all familiar with, but he found that combining the high-altitude strains of Elfroot with a distillation of Deep Mushroom improves the quality of the final product significantly. It also results in a slightly deeper level of unconsciousness for the ashvani which helps to limit some of the instinctual fighting many of them naturally attempt during harvesting. This is going to be quite an important point for any of you who are interested in perhaps purchasing one of the other _ashvani_ I’ve been talking about. You need to keep your elf as healthy and strong as you can for as long as possible. The care and pairing of such slaves is a delicate art and one must be at least moderately practiced in it to ensure consistent success.”

Fenris cringed and gritted his teeth as the guests once again gathered closely about, leaning in with expected _Ooohs_ and _Ahhhs_ as Ravenica gleefully performed his potion show, tossing ingredients together with exaggerated actions and swirling the resultant mixture around the rim of the jeweled cup. When he was finally finished with the demonstration, he hopped up from the pad he’d set on the floor nearest his kit and walked the chalice around to hand it directly to Mariner.

With a smile, he bent slightly at the waist to give his instructions. “Drink up. All in one go, if you can. I’m afraid it’s not the most pleasant tasting thing in the world but you won’t have to worry about it for all that long.”

Mariner tilted the chalice and looked down into the cup with a measure of disgust. The watery liquid contained within was milky white and slightly bluish in color, and smelled somewhat herbal with a strong hit of alcohol and the unmistakable odor of lyrium. Mariner had always thought lyrium smelled a lot like dried-out flowers; vaguely botanic and vaguely musky but the entire brew altogether was unfortunately reminiscent of liniment. Either way, it was going to be enough to knock out a grown man in minutes and him in less than half the time.

With an unsteady sigh, Mariner gave one last glance to Fenris who, despite his impressive ability to mask his feelings beneath a cold exterior, looked stricken. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was the fact that everything around them was a literal nightmare of worst-case scenarios; a carnivalesque tableau of all of the most depraved vices and sins mankind had to offer bearing down on them from above. Maybe it was because Mariner still had considerable doubts as to whether or not he was actually ever going to wake up from this even if the drug had been mixed correctly and the harvesting went without complication. Maybe it was because Fenris himself looked to be halfway to a complete emotional breakdown he would also never recover from. But Mariner leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t an especially deep kiss nor did it last very long but it was the only oasis either of them were likely to get. It was sweet. And then it was gone.

Fenris watched with his heart in his throat as Mariner downed the entire chalice of Sleep in a single swallow, his face contorting in distaste as the flavor of multiple bitter herbs assaulted his palate. He then simply dropped the chalice onto the floor and allowed it to roll away. 

A beat passed. 

Then a breath. 

He wavered. 

A second beat. 

A breath.

A sharply drawn gasp.

A beat.

And then he fell. His body going limp and lifeless.

Fenris caught Mariner as he dropped, gently lowering him to the bed as his eyes fluttered shut and his limbs grew unnaturally still. For a moment, Fenris felt panic welling up through the fraying fibers of his soul; panic that Mariner had actually stopped breathing. That he held the body of another fallen friend in his arms. That Masha was soon to be joined in the makeshift grave beneath the coneflowers in the garden by another _ashvani_ who could do nothing but march inevitably towards their shared fate. That he had failed in this and everything he’d sworn to do. He was about to shout for help when instead, his words suddenly left him in a relieved groan as Mariner took a slow, if somewhat labored, breath, and then another. Then another again; in a relaxed rhythm only slightly suppressed by the powerful inebriation that would undoubtedly leave him in such a state for several hours. But he was alive. At least there was that.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ravenica appeared at Fenris’ side, clapping his hands together with barely contained delight. “Excellent!” He all but yelled. “Now, let’s get him tied in, shall we?”

Fenris had no choice but to bind the unconscious _ashvani_ to the bed that would herald his ultimate violation, shackling each wrist out to his sides as he was laid onto the center of the platform. He could do nothing as their master idly fondled the helpless body beneath him; beginning to undress Mariner with a mind towards tantalizing the audience that loomed in on all sides. He could barely respond when the order came for him to strip himself and get to the task of pairing the younger elf. Slowly, he was told. Give everyone a chance to see.

With incompliant fingers, Fenris reached down to start at the belt of his tunic. He hesitated. Unexpectedly, something caught his eye in the crowd and he chanced a look into the sea of grotesque faces peering down at him. Towards the back, leaning away from the closer spectators, was another elf and, more specifically, one he absolutely recognized. To Fenris’ bewilderment, it was Senaht. The blond elf was dressed as one would have expected him to be in party such as this one; in tailored silks and a brocade coat but the expression he wore was stern. He stared back at Fenris from between the jostling guests, his mouth set in a flat line and his brow furrowed beneath curled locks. He offered Fenris a knowing nod and glanced away towards the doorway they’d entered through. Fenris turned but saw nothing.

“Delaying the inevitable will get you nowhere, Fenris.” Gallio Ravenica’s voice was very near to his right ear and caused him to jump imperceptibly. “But if you’re struggling with your…” He laughed lightly. “…readiness. I can supply you with something for that as well.”

The rage descended without warning. Fenris seethed before something low in his chest simply snapped and the world turned red. The anger blooming deep within him become a hellfire pit that instantly consumed the last part of his soul that had ever been willing to bow to the bonds of a master. He heard Mariner’s words all over again. “Do what you must. I trust you.” Perhaps death was better than this. Passion and mania, wrath and revenge, all blazing to life in one, singular, moment of absolute destruction that would devour him utterly. And along with it, Gallio Ravenica and his entire host of gibbering fanatical demons; scrabbling out the last of their worthless existence as he burned all of Amaranthine to the ground. He would revel in their screams, be bathed in their blood, and follow them into the grave to ensure that none would ever escape it so long as his ghost had fury enough to endure. Fury, he suspected, that could last him a century or more at least. If this was Hell, they would join him in it for eternity.

Fenris felt along the smaller elf’s body; his hand coming to rest on the hilt of the dagger just beneath the thick fabric. He could already feel his muscles recalling the memories of the unparriable movement he would make. The dagger would slide from the pocket, along Mariner’s thigh, and into his palm. From there, he would raise it up, blade flat against his forearm. He would turn, but only a little; just enough to bring the weapon around his side, flick his wrist, and sink it all the way through Ravenica’s throat in a single motion; burying the tip between his collarbone and his larynx so that he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of a last gasp for air. 

His fingers tightened. A sick irony began to overwhelm his thoughts. If Gallio Ravenica wanted to see someone penetrated tonight, he was going to get his wish. First hand.

“STOP!”

The sound hit Fenris like a run-away horse, shattering his thoughts into a thousand irretrievable pieces skittering across the world. The crowd scattered. Ravenica leapt to his feet with a snarl. The guards clattered into formation. Chaos erupted.

“I SAID STOP THIS…uh…STOP THIS AT ONCE!”

Fenris actually sobbed out loud; the raw cry bursting out of him in a manner he would never have imagined possible. It was the most wounded sound anyone could have ever had the misfortune to hear, a sound of absolute ruin, but the joy that rushed in to fill the gaping hole that had been left behind was enough to drown every sorrow that had dared to cross Fenris’ mind in his last days of captivity. Death faded into insignificance as Life, and Liam Hawke, came crashing over the threshold with all the grace and aplomb of a nug on stilts.

In the most stunning pair of striped tights Fenris had ever seen.


	14. May the Dread Wolf Take You - Part 2

**Chapter 14 – May the Dread Wolf Take You – Part 2**

He was falling. Falling and he couldn’t stop himself. Everything was dark and soundless, panic setting in as he could no longer feel his limbs or open his mouth to shout. It was the kind of falling that turned dreams into nightmares; the kind you always wake up from just before you hit bottom. But Mariner didn’t wake up. The darkness gulped him down and he crashed into the ground without so much as a thump or clatter.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, wherever ‘there’ was; regaining his breath slowly, painfully, as a dismal scene came into view. Naught but gray, he could discern a patterned floor in an empty, hollow, room. The ballroom of the Ravenica estate it would seem, but somehow older and far more dilapidated than the real one. This crumbling edifice immediately struck Mariner as out of sorts, though not for the obvious reasons. The Fade usually showed memories of earlier eras and earlier forms, not the inevitable ravages of a future time. This looked as if the entire house, perhaps even the entire city, had been destroyed in an apocalypse and then forgotten for an eon or more.

Slowly and carefully, the _ashvani_ got to his feet. This was, most certainly, the Fade but it felt remarkably different than the times he had been here before. He felt more present, more solid; as though he had somehow fallen through the Veil whole, even though he knew that could not possibly be true. His body was still over there, in the place that he had left it. On the pallet. Where…

Mariner shook his head to chase the thought. It must be the drugs they had used to render him unconscious. That’s why he felt so aware and so conscious to his dreaming state. There was no way for him to awaken himself from it and as such, the Fade was more than happy to drag him further in to its macabre twists. Perhaps this was why those subjected to Serenic Sleep over long periods of time began to seem as if they never quite fully returned. Maybe it was because, eventually, they just didn’t.

That didn’t change the fact, however, that he now stood in an ominous, hollow, space. A grand ballroom quite similar in size and configuration to the one he had just left but this one empty of both people and furniture, thick with dust and age, and overgrown with lichen and weeds. All of the precious stones in the chandelier and in the mosaics had lost their luster and now hung colorless in the gloom; their resplendence overtaken instead by vines and budding flowers frozen in suspension as though by an early frost. It smelled of soot and burning tinder.

Mariner glanced down at his hands and recoiled. It was not dirt that smeared across his palms and stained his clothing, but ashes. The entire room, even the air be desperately tried to breath, was thick with falling motes and the remains of something else he dared not imagine. Deep in his heart, he could feel himself surrounded by death and restless spirits. Something angry dwelt in this place and it had little sense for the differences between friend and foe.

But Mariner was at a loss. His mind and his soul wavered here, even with the knowledge that the body they would be returning to would hardly be what he could call his own any longer. The Serenic Sleep had seen to it that he would be exiled from himself for all the time it would take for another to lay claim to him while he was absent from it and to possess it in ways that would mark him with their depravities forever. He shivered. He could not help but think of it now as a corpse. As something that may once have been his but was now little more than remains. It couldn’t really be him anymore. The pallet might just as well be his pyre.

But if that were so, then he would be a spirit now. An oddly comforting thought when he took a moment with it. It almost felt right, in a sense. He started to imagine that the body now lying beneath Fenris and then Gallio Ravenica had never really been him at all. Rather, that it had been some temporary conveyance, possessed by the Fade Spirit that now wandered these open halls, and was therefore an abomination best left to a bitter end. After all, that was the best an abomination could ever hope for.

He tried to stop his thoughts from skittering away on such ghoulish topics but he wasn’t having much luck. He felt like a harp strung too tightly, with too many strings, but which could only pluck one note in tune. The Fade appeared to be having more of an effect on him than it normally did. He felt both solid and disintegrating, aware and increasingly uninterested, as though he were drifting into a kind of pleasant state of semi-existence in the spaces between sleep and morning. Relaxing into a nothingness that everything within him railed against. He had to stay awake.

He tried to focus on something, anything, to get an anchor in his surroundings but the rounded panopticon of the ballroom was little help. There were the remnants of paintings on the walls, which had long begun to degrade and reveal the colored tiles beneath them. The tiles themselves then formed a larger mosaic, but interpreted now through shades of gray, white, and black. It was like standing at the center of a zoetrope, where each image in the sequence became a successive phase of a new motion just waiting for the next rotation and the brighter light to illuminate the story. He stared at the images taking shape in the shadows of his vision.

_A wolf stands at the edge of a crowd of angelically-winged mages in billowing robes. The mages hold themselves above a field of death and carnage, surveying it with pride. The wolf paces in anger. The wolf then leads them towards a sheer cliff. The angels falling into a chasm. The wolf is falling as well, grasping for the edge. The mages pull at him, screaming in fury. A stag appears on a far horizon and leaps across the yawning gap opening in the ground. The stag pulls the wolf from his doom. But not in time. The stag falls. The wolf cries out and tries to turn back but is tangled in a shroud. A tree floating in the heavens falls as well. A road emerges but leads to nothing._

The room began to spin. Everything became a blur of thoughts and ideas that only partially seemed as though they came from him. Mariner felt himself waver again; as though he stood on some unsteady precipice that would give way with the slightest uncertainty, the smallest tremble. But he wasn’t frightened. The far depths didn’t seem like a terrible place to go. Just quiet. Just away. Just one more step through the archway to the ledge and…

His mind was pierced by a howl that rattled his senses to the core and he snapped back to himself with a startled shout. Echoing throughout the room, it forced him back from the edge and into the central embellishments. With an enraged shriek, the wild young elf thrashed to the side before colliding with the wall behind him in a thunderous crack. He felt as though his skin were crumbling, that his entire sense of self was being reduced to pieces barely hanging together beneath the veneer of an elven form. The voice that welled up inside of him was not his own. It was something older. Something fiercer, roused from too long a slumber.

“Insidious!” He turned and screamed to the wine-dark sky. “Duplicitous, mutinous, thing that you are!”

Another howl echoed through the massive chamber, reverberating off of the dirt-encrusted crystals until they clanked together as dull chimes. “For how long have you pursued me and stayed in the shadows? For how long have you hidden and lured, only to vanish when I called out to you? Show yourself!” He paced a rampart overlooking a ruined courtyard and fountain filled with moss and frogs. “I will not be hunted in your memory. I will not be prey for your sorrows. Not anymore! It was I who pulled you from the abyss, wasn’t it?! You _will_ come to me! Come to me... now!”

Lightening streaked overhead, splitting the skyline in two. In its wake, a sickly green burst erupted and quickly began to fill the spaces in the distance. It was as the eye of hurricane; a breach in the very fabric of reality that arced over the encroaching mountain sides. The sea beneath it boiled and Mariner could feel the ground begin to shake.

He saw the zoetrope around him begin to roll and play out its recorded time. Then came a voice from a memory that couldn't be his. Or was it? 

_An elf. Strikingly handsome, with wild black hair. He's trapped, grasping to a ledge that's breaking away beneath him. He's slipping; he can't hold on but it doesn’t appear as if he intends to. A great wave is about to come crashing down and when it does, he will be gone forever. Mariner feels the tension as he races towards him on feet faster than his ever could be. The wave is coming; consuming everything in its path. He reaches out and for an instant he thinks that the other is already gone. Fallen into the void with all the rest. But no, he's there and he grabs a hold of his arm. He's dragging him free from wrenching fingers. The wave is almost upon them._

_‘No!’ He screams. ‘Let go! You must let go of me! Aras Telvanni, please! You will be killed! Please, you must run! If you run, nothing, not even this cataclysm can catch you! Run, vhenan, run!’_

_He knows these words to be true. There is only one hunter in all the world who can catch him; only one who has ever come close. And he will not leave him. He will walk the path of Dinan’shiral first if he must. And meet him there if that is his Fate._

_Mariner doesn't let go. He will save him. Even if it costs him his life._

_And it does._

“I know your name.” The _ashvani_ whispered. “I don’t know how, but I remember you. Somewhere dreaming in the deep, you are there. But not any longer. It is time for you to wake up. It is time for you to see that I am not your memory…but that you are mine.”

Somehow the words came easily to him. Somehow, he had become something other than what he was before. Maybe it was the violent concoction of mind-altering herbs racing through his system in place of blood, or maybe it was the violence that was no doubt being meted out upon him as he lay helpless, or maybe it was a sense of something else, of a previous life, that only ever managed to come to him in the Fade and was here now most potently because he was as well. Whatever it was, the world around him and within him was changing.

He looked up to the tempest gaining strength in the vast overhead. “Ar eolasa mar melin! Ar ema ueolasa ma o’ enal! Ar eolasa mah ma hartha em! Garas mala! …. Lasa Fen’harel ver em…. Vis is elana.” (I know your name. I have known you from the beginning. I know that you hear me. Come now, then. Let the Dread Wolf take me. If he can.)

Mariner was never quite sure what happened after that. If the rain that he remembered falling was more like crystalline snow that reflected strange, blue, light across everything it touched or if the butterflies that swarmed into the empty, desolate, room were orange or black. He thought, for a moment, that he might be running free in a great wood but it soon turned to silt and washed away in a river that threatened to drown him in an instant. He almost always remembered his dreams, but this one continued to fragment into a thousand images and voices until he was no longer sure what had become of anything. Or of himself.

But beneath it all, a wary voice. A stunned, breathless, hopeful sound in a maelstrom. “You are…. alive?”

********

On the other side of the Veil, another rancorous shout cut through the chaos. “Stop this at once! I demand redress!”

“I’m not redressing you, Hawke. The first time was bad enough.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No, but it’s funny.”

In the center of a frantic crowd, Liam Hawke and Varric Tethras held court. More specifically, Liam Hawke proceeded to throw an absolute temper tantrum to the astonished gasps of an unamused crowd while Varric Tethras engaged in as much on-the-spot damage control as the pauses in Hawke’s ranting allowed. As choreographed mayhem went, it was spectacular.

Fenris watched in stunned silence as Hawke, dressed obnoxiously in a puffed court coat and striped tights that barely managed to make it to his ankles, started by loudly insulting the lighting. He then stalked across the room to spit on a painting, followed by threatening the nearest string quartet with fiery death should they get any closer to his least favorite music, before pulling a mangled portfolio out of his pants to wave it around as Varric’s booming voice attempted to explain that thievery was afoot. If Fenris had had the wherewithal to think about it, he might have even called the entire performance a passable comedy routine. Hawke made for a terrifyingly convincing buffoon when it suited him and Varric was the consummate straight-man.

“And another thing!” Hawke straightened his purple waist-coat with a sharp tug. “It is an outrage! An outrage, I tell you! To have had my two very best courtesans openly stolen in the light of day!”

“Brazen. Absolutely brazen.” Varric nodded.

“No wonder I wasn’t invited! A grand party such as this WITHOUT the Champion of Kirkwall?! Well, now I know the reason and so do all of you!”

“Snubbed, but for what?” The dwarf added. “Clearly to cover up the true ownership of such finely-groomed and expertly-trained bond-slaves. Clearly they didn’t come from…here.”

“And I’ll not stand for it! I demand their return at once! I. AM. OFFENDED!” Hawke’s Peter Pan posture was definitely making Fenris’ day.

Under any other circumstances, Fenris would have been completely dumbfounded. But as it was, he couldn’t suppress the relieved and happy smile that crept up his face nor the elation that brought the blood flow back to his clenched hands. As such, he simply leaned back to watch the show, almost sad that Mariner would not be awake to see it. He reflexively checked the smaller elf once more and was satisfied that he seemed alright, if completely unconscious. It was like being at the circus, however. Hawke, swathed head to toe in purple velvet brocade lined in gold and fur trim, a pair of flat slipper shoes, and herringbone tights with lavender offsets, was now actually holding up a chair and lunging at the various guests as might a lion tamer in a room full of unruly cats. Varric, clearly the Ringmaster is this particular metaphor, stood at the center of the room, yelling out to the crowd as he subtly directed the action. 

“All records signed and stamped.” The dwarf was saying. “Right here! The proof will have us out!”

“That’s right!” Hawke stood at attention with both fists set to his hips and papers splayed through his fingers. “Now, I demand the return of my elves, force with!”

“Forthwith.”

“For this!”

“Good enough.”

It was then that Fenris spied Senaht once again. The blond elf was moving across the back wall virtually unnoticed in the commotion, carrying what appeared to be a heavy cloth sack. He checked Varric and Hawke’s respective positions and then turned down one of the far hallways leading out into the courtyard. The dwarf and the mage, however, had no trouble keeping the center of attention focused firmly on them and none appeared to register his passing.

“That’s quite enough!” Gallio Ravenica spat as he crossed the room and into the shrinking circle now holding the two most unwelcome interlopers into his soiree. “What is the meaning of all this? Do you have any idea whose home you’re attempting to crash?”

“I!” Hawke immediately exclaimed, “Am Liam Hawke, of House Arnell, noble and Champion of Kirkwall! And I demand justice!”

Varric interjected. “Magister Ravenica, my sincere apologies. But as you can see, my associate is not quite himself. However, it is not without good cause. I am afraid that your most recent acquisition of these two slaves is not above board. The Merchant’s Guild has definitive proof, here in the Imperial records, that these two elves were stolen. Now, I’m sure you had nothing to do with this personally but rather it is likely that your retainers got a little overzealous on their last…uh, purchasing expedition. We are merely here to reclaim the stolen property, as I am sure you would expect for anyone in this position.”

The magister glowered at him openly but hardly dared to deny him in such a public forum. Any more of this ruckus and they were sure to draw the attention of authorities. He looked over at Hawke, who stuck his chest out proudly while smiling back at him, and then back down to Varric, who shrugged in his characteristic manner.

“Perhaps you two would like a word in my study?” He bit out through clenched teeth, glancing about at the many eyes trained on the drama.

“Of course.” Varric nodded with a sidelong smirk. 

To the dismay of the audience, Gallio Ravenica led the two away as quickly as he could manage, shouting for the musicians to keep playing and for his attendant guards to see to it that Fenris remained where he was. Though he likely would have anyway. It had not escaped Fenris’ notice that the sword Hawke wore in a decorated scabbard at his belt was his.

Once behind closed doors, the Tevinter mage rounded on the other two. “Explain yourselves.” He snapped, irritably.

“I think we’ve explained ourselves perfectly well.” Hawke rejoined, in a voice much more akin to his normal tone. “You had no right to take Fenris and Mariner and you have no right to what you are doing to them now.”

“Oh?” Ravenica dropped into the high-back chair closest to the fireplace so that he could continue to size up these new opponents. “And what if I told you I came by those two elves justly and fairly in an underground warren?”

Hawke snorted. “You mean the Smuggler’s Cove. Of course, you did. They were there because I was there. I had business with the dockmaster, so naturally I would have had my bodyguard along.”

“And the _ashvani_?”

“I never leave him alone. That would be stupid.”

“And you have…papers for them, I take it?”

Varric snatched the damp bundle from underneath Hawke’s arm and delicately laid it all out on the magister’s desk. 

“Two writs of purchase for the Hawke-Arnell Estate.” He started in a mildly gleeful tone. “Two sets of Origin and Transfer folios, two health records, and a stamped census account of household elves.”

“They’re fake.” Ravenica sniffed, hardly even glancing at the sheaf.

Hawke leaned forward menacingly. “Oh, are they? Prove me wrong.”

The magister leaned towards the mage in response. “You want me to believe that you, the Champion of Kirkwall, have been in possession of two Serenic slaves for years? That’s a reach, even though you are a mage. The lyrium guard, maybe. But that _ashvani_ hasn’t been touched much less harvested and you think you can come flailing in here to take two of the most valuable elves the Imperium might ever see right out from under me? Just like that?”

Hawke straightened, his features settling into a contemptuous frown. From his pocket, he then produced the small, wooden, compact Varric had insisted he take with him and on his person. Now he understood why and rolling it lightly in his palm presented it to Gallio Ravenica. In a low, dangerous, voice he made his point.

“Oh, he’s always like that. Just a measure of good breeding, really. But since we’re on the topic, yes. That’s exactly what I intend to do. Do you see this? You know damn well what it is and as a result, you know damn well how I got it. But it’s almost gone and that’s a problem. Don’t believe me? Check for yourself. But if I run out, I think you know what’s likely to happen, don’t you?”

Ravenica gingerly lifted the rounded pot from Hawke’s palm before inspecting it closely. As Varric had anticipated he might, he then broke the seal and popped the lid to peer inside. He sniffed it, angled it into the light, and then carefully raised his index finger to dip into the contents within. With a tentative tap onto the flat of his tongue, he tasted the dab of balm by working it around the roof of his mouth. Hawke tensed. He really hoped Varric had managed to get the real thing.

When the magister growled and tossed him the compact, he knew the dwarf had done his due diligence. “So it is.” He snapped. “And that’s how you’ve been making such a name for yourself is it? A little boost here and there, a little remedy for the Tranquil that otherwise would have been your inevitable fate? I’ve heard about you and your…friends.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Hawke offered a smug grin. 

“And I suppose that if I don’t return your slaves, you’ll have the entire Knight’s Watch and then some at my doorstep, won’t you?”

“If they were actually yours, wouldn’t you?”

At that, Ravenica actually smiled. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I would. Such a pity though. They are exquisite. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with them. For a fair price, of course.”

“Not a chance.”

“Thought I’d try. But tell me, Liam Hawke. How do you intend to keep and manage such slaves now that elven slavery have been outlawed in the Free Marches?”

“You think anyone cares about that?” Hawke had this one at the ready. “As long as they aren’t out in the streets causing trouble, no one is going to tell me what to do with my own household.”

Ravenica sighed irritably. “I suppose you leave me no choice, do you? And I had such plans for this evening.”

“Sorry to rain on the parade.” Hawke sniffed. “But what’s mine is mine. You want to make this a thing; I’ll make a thing. You want a fight, I’ll give you a fight. You know who I am and you know I can do it. But I am not leaving here without them.”

“I believe you.” The magister slowly got up, brushing a bit of lint from his robes before once more glancing between the mage and the dwarf. “Very well then. It would seem that your papers are in order and I certainly can’t contest the evidence you’ve brought before me. My apologies on the temporary loss of your property, Master Hawke. I shall have to have a word with my company.”

“Yeah.” Hawke muttered. “You do that.”

“I shall make your…. apologies.” Ravenica added with a dark look. “Please. Collect your courtesans and… have a good night.”

Varric took his time in collecting the papers and other sundries of their plan but Hawke quite nearly sprinted out of the office and back into the ballroom, where the crowd had remained tightly knit and utterly saturated with gossip. He was nearly half way into the adjacent room before he was reminded of his decorum and that, unfortunately, they weren’t exactly out of the woods just yet. But he made it to Fenris’ side in record time.

“Fen?” He dropped to his knees next to the nearly motionless elf. “Fenris? Are you alright?”

He was slow to respond but when he did, Hawke couldn’t have imagined a more genuinely affectionate look from his lover than the one he wore now. “No, Liam.” He whispered. “I am not. But I will be.”


	15. May the Dread Wolf Take You - Part 3

**Chapter 15 – May the Dread Wolf Take You – Part 3**

“Look, I get that this is an emotional reunion and all,” Varric interrupted. “But we really need to move. Now.”

Hawke ignored him, still enamored with running his fingers through Fenris’ hair and whispering soft encouragement against his mouth, despite the fact that they were already becoming something of an object of renewed interest from the crowd. 

“I thought I was going to lose you.” The mage mumbled into Fenris’ jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly by reflexively gripping the back of his neck.

“I’m here.” Was all his lover managed to murmur in response. But after a moment, “Varric is right, however. We need to get out of here. Before Ravenica finds a loophole in your contract language.”

Hawke sighed, but good-naturedly. “Fine. This party is lame anyway.”

“Also,” Fenris added. “You look… ridiculous.”

“Only for you, Fen. Only for you.”

Without much further ado, Varric used his usual commanding demeanor to cut a swath through the audience as they made their way to the foyer. Fenris had quickly scooped Mariner up and was carrying him, bridal style, across the floor as Hawke continued to berate the art, the music, and the attendee’s fashion choices as they passed. Once they reached the threshold of the ballroom archway, however, Hawke turned.

“Is he going to be alright?” Indicating the younger elf’s limp, lifeless, form.

“Yes.” Fenris replied. “But he’ll probably out for at least the next few hours. Nor do I envy the hang-over he’s going to have when he does wake up.”

“You’ve already tarried too long.” A voice startled them from the alcove. “As we speak, Ravenica has finished shouting his orders to the guard to intercept you in the courtyard and the household has been instructed to move the other _ashvani_ to the docks immediately. They’re leaving for the Imperium post-haste, on the off chance that any one of you escape. You can be rest assured that the intent is to see the three of you dead and Mariner back in captivity before he so much as bats an eyelash.”

Varric chuffed and crossed his arms as Senaht slowly emerged from the shadows between two massive columns. He looked irritated, but not really any more so than it seemed he usually did.

“You again.” Fenris regarded the other elf suspiciously.

“Yes, me again. And you should be glad of it. If I hadn’t stepped in to help your friends, you’d be in a much more…. compromising…position right now.”  
Fenris rolled his eyes but did not press it. He actually did feel a measure of gratitude towards Senaht and had no doubt that his assistance had been invaluable. 

“Look,” the blond elf continued. “From what I can see, you’ve only got a couple of options. You can come with me and we’ll try to get out through the lower levels before the guard gets wind that you’re not coming down the main thoroughfare or you can fight your way out and probably lose at least half of you in the attempt.”

“No.” Hawke squared up and was met with several pairs of surprised eyes. “We can’t let him take the other three _ashvani_ to the ships. If they make it out of port, they’ll be no reaching them. Senaht, were you able to get what I asked for?”

With a smug smile, he shrugged. “Of course. It’s in the bag next to the wall.”

“Good.” Hawke tugged at his ill-fitting coat and continued. “Because I want you to take Mariner and get out of here. Get him back to the Merchant’s House to recover and as soon as we have the others, we’ll all meet up back there.”

“Wait, Hawke.” Fenris balked. “Please don’t think me ungracious, but I can’t just hand Mariner over to…to…. a stranger. You’ve been a friend to us thus far, Senaht, I am not disputing that but I can’t risk turning an unconscious _ashvani_, under the influence of Serenic Sleep, over to someone I do not yet know if I can truly trust.”

Senaht narrowed his eyes but was interrupted by Varric before he could respond. “I’ll go with him.” The dwarf sighed. “Just in case anything goes awry, Bianca and I can see to it that everyone gets where they need to be.”

“Fine by me.” Hawke answered. “Fenris?”

They simply didn’t have time to argue. Reluctantly, the elder elf carefully passed Mariner into Senaht’s arms. “Get him out safely.” He growled, almost too lowly for either Hawke or Varric to hear. “Or I’ll be coming for you next.”

“We’ll be fine.” Senaht assured. “He is in no danger from me. But for you, my curmudgeonly friend, your arms and equipment are in the sack I left behind the column. Ravenica was keeping them in the armory near the holding cells. If you’re both quick about it, you should be able to take the far stairs down past the kitchens, through the cellar, and into the barracks. The _ashvani_ are being kept in a communal room opposite the guard quarters.”

“How do you even know all this?” Hawke queried as he retrieved the bag and began to unload Fenris’ gauntlets and breastplate into his waiting hands.

“Easy.” Senaht gave him a flirtatious wink. “I’ve been fucking the captain in the training vestibule for a week. Wouldn’t do to have the master find out his proclivities, so it’s always out of sight and out of mind. Now, get on with it. You don’t have much time.”

As soon as Fenris had buckled on the last of his gear but before he had finished with his gauntlets, he turned to Hawke and Varric with his wrists upturned. “If you want me to be as effective in this as you’re hoping, you’ll need to remove the Magebane.”

“Oh, crap.” Hawke stared down at the bracer-like manacles with a look of disgust. “Here, let me see what I can do. Good thing these things aren’t actually all that difficult to remove from the outside.”

Hawke set to work as Fenris continued to side-eye Senaht. “Why are you helping us, anyway? You’ve no dogs in this fight.”

“Not that you know of.” He replied evasively. “But let’s just say that I might be a son-of-a-bitch, even on a good day, but even I have my limits. And Serenic is one of them. It serves no one’s interests for that trade to ever see the light of day again.”

Hawke tossed the shackles to the floor and allowed Fenris to don his gauntlets before handing him his sword back with a triumphant flourish. “There. Back to the way things should be.” He announced. “Now, the two of you get going. I want Mariner out of reach before we spring the others.”

“Sounds good. You two be careful. It’s going to be a hard fight down there.” Varric said, subtly directing Senaht towards the further doorway. 

“You going to be OK for this, Fen?” Hawke asked as he pulled his staff from behind a nearby candelabra; another bit of Senaht’s sly assistance it would appear. 

“Oh, I’ll be fine.” He replied, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck in anticipation. “There are a lot of guards between us and the lower levels. And I’m in a _mood_.” 

********

Fenris had not been joking. In fact, Hawke might have even said he was intentionally pulling some of his strikes just to ensure that he got the more dramatic gouts of blood that were somehow landing on him at every turn. By the time they had reached the cellblocks, Fenris was an absolute fright. Viciously closing in on every armed person he encountered before cutting them down into a puddle on the carpets. If ever, and whenever, the Knight Commander investigated this estate, it was going to raise some concerning questions. It wasn’t as though Hawke himself was going lightly either though. And the accompanying patina of soot and charcoal wasn’t going to help matters.

Despite their rampage, however, the household was clearly in a state of chaos. Servants rushed every which direction as they packed supplies or hauled trunks towards the upper floors. Without a doubt, Ravenica had every intention to be on his way back to Tevinter within the hour. It was a smart move, all told. He obviously didn’t want to risk losing all four _ashvani_ to an insane mage and his equally unhinged elven lover. Even though that is exactly what Hawke and Fenris intended to happen. It was just a question of reaching them in time.

Fenris barreled through a secondary doorway; kicking open the hinges as he loudly ordered the household slaves out of the room in rather harsh-sounding Tevene. As they fled, he first sliced through one approaching guard and then another as they attempted to drop him at the midsection. Hawke dealt with the third in a white-hot rush of fire that had the man collapsing to the floor in flames before he’d made it so much as within ten feet of his companion. 

“Which way now?” He asked, wiping several stray droplets of blood from his cheek.

“Senaht said they were being kept across from the central quarters. Tevinter magisters always station their most highly prized slaves between the kitchens and their most capable fighters. It’s protection just as much as it is effective imprisonment. The kitchens are that way, which means they should be down this hallway somewhere.”

Hawke looked about them with an eye for clues. The hallway in question was unusually opulent for a servant’s basement, though not nearly as over-the-top as most of the estate. It had an almost quaint kind of charm to it, with homey looking paintings of expansive pastoral landscapes and little single-flame lamps to keep the lighting warm and calming. It was also clearly soundproofed which, for Fenris, made the entire atmosphere far more sinister than it might otherwise have appeared. He could just about imagine the horrors that had taken place down here, under the smiling gaze of palette-knifed women and their cuddly watercolor dogs. 

Hawke checked a large, oak, door and immediately took note of the heavy locking system and thick, iron, bars. “This looks about right. Stand back, I’ll warp the lock.”

Under his adept magic, the door gave easily if slowly; swinging open on a track set into the floor. Fenris lowered the point of his sword and stepped in from the side. He was ready, should anyone attempt to ambush him but he also didn’t want to inadvertently lash out at a frightened elf hiding within. As Hawke followed him, he observed that the lay-out of the room reminded him very much of the chamber he had been kept in with Mariner. A fireplace sat along the far wall, a single four-posted bed in the center, and a small seating area next to an open archway that almost certainly led to a bathing chamber. He scanned the confines, immediately concerned that he heard no sound.

Hawke was the first to see them. Three huddled figures in the shadows, gathered at the foot of the lone bed. Seeing no one else in their vicinity, he spoke up. “It’s alright. We’re not here to hurt you. I’m Hawke and this is Fenris. We’re with Mariner.”

The first of the figures stood up and stepped forward into the dim light. Yet again, Hawke was somewhat taken aback at the elf that was revealed to them. He was small and slight, as was typical, but with the same kind of long, auburn, hair that Mariner had, if minus the white wisp at the end. This _ashvani_, however, was even more feminine in appearance than the mage had expected and could easily have been mistaken for a woman if not for the distinctive caravan coat that highlighted his more angular shoulders and broader chest. But with a sharp chin, delicate cheekbones, and wide, green, eyes, he was undoubtedly lovely to look at and Hawke had no confusion as to why these elves were so highly prized as slaves and concubines.

“Mariner sent you?” He asked hesitantly. “Where is he?”

“He’s safe.” Fenris explained, motioning for the others to come out as well. “But I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time to explain everything. We need to leave. Now.”

The _ashvani_ nodded but shrunk back towards the other two.

“I told you Mariner wouldn’t leave us!” The youngest of the three exclaimed, leaping up from his position near the bedpost. “I knew he would come!”

“Yes, perhaps.” The first began to fret. “Believe me, I’m happy that he has but we’re not safe.” He hesitated, glancing worriedly at the newcomers. “We don’t even know these two. They might be marauders for all we know.”

“I don’t think Mariner would have sent marauders.” The youngest rejoined.

“Well, it beats waiting around here to be shipped off to the Imperium.” The second snapped. “I’m perfectly happy to be rescued, even _if_ it’s by highwaymen. We can take it from there.”

The auburn-haired _ashvani_ regarded Fenris in return. “My name is Lyric.” He gestured towards the second elf now standing next to him. “This is Alcuin and the young one there is Aurvandil. We’d heard from the guards that Mariner had been captured but they never brought him down to us. I was starting to think he’d been killed and they just didn’t want to, I don’t know, upset us.”

Fenris dipped his head in acknowledgement as Hawke went to check the hallway once more. “They did. He and I were captured together actually but they kept us upstairs while the preparations for tonight’s party were underway. Mariner was the one they chose to be harvested for Serenic tonight…with my…. help.”

“I see.” Lyric wrinkled his nose slightly but didn’t back away. “And…did they?”

“No.” Fenris was happy to reply. “Thankfully, my…Hawke, got to us in time. He is, however, under the effects of the Sleep. We were unfortunately not able to avoid that part. The rest of our friends have taken him to the Merchant’s House. Which is where we’re going as well. Come on. Stay behind me and we’ll get you all out of here.”

The youngest of the three, whom Fenris guessed to likely be somewhere between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, bounded forward with an unbecoming amount of glee. “I told Lyric that Mariner would free us! But now it seems that he also saved us from being taken as well. I knew I was right. I did! All along.”

Fenris couldn’t help but chuckle at the amount of eager enthusiasm that came from the one identified as Aurvandil. He was quite cute, really. With curly black hair down to his waist and pale skin, he still had some amount of growing into himself to do yet but it was obvious enough that he would be just as striking as the other _ashvani_ when he did.

“Close with him, are you?” Fenris asked in a mild tone.

“Well, no, not really.” Aurvandil stopped and thought for a moment. “But then again, no one is. Mariner is just that way most of the time. But I’ve always liked him.”

“Coast is clear so far.” Hawke announced from the threshold. “How do you want to try this? Make for the back kitchen and go out the receiving door or through the guard’s antechamber and towards the docks?”

Fenris joined him at the doorway. “The guard’s entrance is closer but the back kitchen is probably safer. The mercenaries are probably looking for us by now, seeing as we didn’t exit through the courtyard as they were expecting. But I think it’s unlikely that they would start hunting for us in a place where there are so many servants about. They’ll more than likely think we’re trying to escape unnoticed.”

“Kitchens it is then.” Hawke agreed. “Alright everyone, keep up. We’re going to try and do this as fast and painless as we can.”

Fenris moved out into the hall first with the wall to his right and Hawke closing on his left. Lyric led the other _ashvani_ out right behind him, doing their best to remain in a tightly-knit formation between the warrior and the mage. Little by little and step by step, the troupe made their way down into the stone-worked walkways of the main kitchens, past the line of baking ovens, and into the larder; where the back steps of the cellar led into the deepest and oldest parts of the house. They could hear shouts and thunderous footsteps echoing throughout the floors above them and even the occasional unseen individual rushing past the chambers behind them. But thus far, they hadn’t encountered a single guard or hireling. They’d hardly even seen another servant since crossing the line into the scullery.

Hawke was almost about to allow himself a bit of confidence; to make some manner of humorous remark about their good fortune when his heart dropped and the words died on his tongue. He had just enough time to call out to Fenris that they had been trapped when several figures in armor, brandishing swords, suddenly leapt from a hidden recess above. Fenris laid into the first of them but as Hawke wheeled around to defend their rear, he was forced back by the very thing he had desperately hoped to avoid. The lead fighter, having had a moment to study their movements, had landed just so within their midst and was able to grab a hold of Aurvandil and drag him backwards, separating him from the group. 

With a menacing turn of his hand, the captain brought his blade up to the _ashvani’s_ throat; holding the small elf easily off his feet as he struggled. “That’s far enough.” He growled from beneath the cross-plate of his helm. “Theft is not the proper punishment for theft, mage.”

Hawke smiled condescendingly. “I think we both know that theft is hardly what I came here for.”

The captain snorted as the other guards formed a circle around Hawke, Fenris, and the Elusivir elves. 

“Yeah, I get it. It’s a thing with you rabbit-fuckers. Always squabbling over who has the prettiest pets.”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to laugh. “From what I hear, you’re one to talk.”

The guard bristled but didn’t immediately respond. Rather, he took out some of his aggravation by pressing the blade far enough into Aurvandil’s throat to draw a line of blood. When the elf let out a pained gasp, Hawke scowled and rounded on the man. “Put him down. He’s barely a child. This is between you and me right now. Besides, you wouldn’t want to be the one to explain how your master’s precious slaves came to be so damaged, now would you?”

“To be honest?” The captain replied. “I don’t give one wit what happens to you or any of them. As far as I’m concerned, Ravenica can sail his ass back to Tevinter empty-handed and live out his perverted days with the elves he already has. These three are nothing but trouble and they’re going to continue to be nothing but trouble. So…”

Fenris straightened. “No!”

But it was too late and the sword slid effortlessly across Aurvandil’s throat. A rush of bright-red blood was followed by a guttural shriek and the elf being thrown to the ground in a heap at the captain’s feet. He’d hardly hit the floor, however, when Fenris erupted.

In the days that would come, Hawke would always skip over this part of the story whenever he told it to Varric or to anyone else who would be listening. Not because of the carnage that even Fenris had not previously seemed capable of enacting but because of the raw, rough, and utterly wounded soul it briefly revealed. Fenris collided with the captain of the guard as one might an enraged dragon plummeting from the sky; tearing into him with such wrath that several of the claws adorning his gauntlets were broken clean off. The dank reaches of the cellar were suddenly alight; dazzling the other surrounding guards so much that they staggered backwards with stars in their eyes and blood splattering onto their armor. In dawning terror, they then watched as Fenris, his body glowing brightly with piercing white-blue light, quite literally dove into the man’s chest; bursting through him with a howl of unsanctified rage. They watched as an elf, no larger or more solidly built than any other elf they had ever seen, ripped their commander into pieces that painted the walls in a new kind of landscape of terror. This slave, whom most of them had just witnessed sitting quietly on a pallet in the midst of an Imperial banquet, was finger-painting the abstractions of his hatred with the viscera of their chief officer; all the while thrumming with an energy none of them had ever experienced beyond the confines of their master’s demonstrations.

How could just a few seconds last so unbelievably long?

When Fenris was finally at a stand-still, a few of the guard briefly leaned forward; as though they might attack him. But Fenris turned and hissed at them with a strange, feral, sound. His eyes were completely obscured in the light and his form seemed to waver in and out of reality. The evidence of his slaughter merely dripped through him and as he turned to face the other mercenaries, it was clear he meant to repeat his actions until he had made his way down the entire line of them; one by one. 

Hawke scrambled backwards to get clear of the bedlam. With a shout of warning, he pushed the two standing _ashvani_ down to shelter against the wall as he reached out to drag Aurvandil’s body along with them. To his surprise, he leaned back to find the young elf still breathing, though barely. As Fenris raged overhead, Hawke brought his hand down to feel at the open gash on the young _ashvani’s_ neck; delighted to see that it wasn’t as deep as it had first appeared to be. From what the mage could tell, Aurvandil must have turned his head at just right the time so that the fullest edge of the blade had only passed through the muscle beneath his ear but had not actually managed to penetrate his windpipe. There was still a significant amount of blood, however, and Hawke immediately set about stabilizing the injury and ensuring that the elf did not slip further into shock.

The body of a guard crashed down to the floor as his head thumped and bounced almost comically down the adjacent stairway. Another guard screamed and tried to run, but was met with a fist that went straight through his chest plate, past his breast bone, and then directly into his heart. That very same heart was then wrenched free and used as a gag to stifle the petrified screams of another guard whose skull was immediately crushed and then upended into the bucket of his own helmet. The last of the mercenaries met a similar end, as the wild lattice-work of Fenris’ brands shifted through a wall, took hold of the man’s entire torso, and then left it to strain out through his bones and the cracks in the mortar. In the end, there was nothing left but a few metal frameworks in the shapes of men and a melted mess the consistency of wax and dust.

Finally, the light began to fade and with a short stumble, Fenris reappeared at last; falling to his knees in a storm-whipped sea of frothy red. Hawke could hear the deep, stuttering, breaths that choked out of him and see the not-imperceptible tremble in his shoulders and arms. Satisfied that Aurvandil would likely live, he left the three _ashvani_ in the safety of the cellar’s alcove and approached his lover with caution. An eerie silence had descended following the battle.

“Fenris?” He said quietly, careful not to startle him.

When the other didn’t respond, he took another few steps forward. Fenris didn’t move.

“Don’t.” He heard softly in reply. “Don’t …come to me right now, Hawke. I…I can’t…”

“I know.” The mage answered, and yet he continued to approach, keeping his pace relaxed and nonthreatening. When he reached Fenris’s side, Hawke slowly knelt down; completely uncaring that he was doing so in several inches of gore. (Honestly, there were worse things he’d been covered in before and he hated these clothes anyway).

When he finally closed the distance between them, Hawke could make out what appeared to be clean streaks down Fenris’ face, and tears mixed with the blood pooling along his collarbone. His hands were shaking and small sparks could still be seen dancing up along the lyrium lines of his chest and face. 

“Don’t touch me.” He whispered. But the recoil in Fenris’ voice told Hawke that he wasn’t asking this of him because he feared contact but because he thought himself unworthy of it. Damaged. Soiled. A monstrosity.

Hawke smiled and hummed gently as he leaned forward with the utmost care and nuzzled the soft skin beneath Fenris’s ear. When he then placed a chaste kiss onto the side of Fenris’ neck, the other did not pull away. 

“Hey.” Hawke called out to him, though he continued to speak lowly. “It’s done. Let’s get out of here, ok?”

Fenris turned his head.

“It’s going to be alright, Fen.” The mage stated. “We’re going to be alright.”

For a scant moment, Hawke almost thought he saw Fenris smile.

“Hawke?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“That outfit really is…atrocious.”

“Uh huh.”

“I love it.”


	16. Fade to Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Happy Halloween! Have some sexy spirits for your troubles. Trick or Treat? - Nas)

**Chapter 16 – Fade to Black**

Either the world had gone insane, or he had. Honestly, either proposition could have been equally true. But as Mariner attempted to regain his hold on consciousness, he found himself constantly slipping backwards into the Fade once more; incapable of grounding himself in a thought or maintaining a sequence of events for any longer than a few seconds. Nothing was as it should have been. The images around him were now moving faster than he could comprehend and everything else had become formless; a void. And now, he was falling again.

Something smelled of rain and old books, like ink and parchment left out to the elements. There clearly had been words scrawled across the pages but they were streaked through now. Blotted on leaves. The sound of angry crows overhead and the distant rumble of a late-summer storm. It must have been a memory, Mariner thought, because it seemed just too familiar. But where was he? Was he meant to know this place?

In an Autumn Kingdom, abandoned from a long-forgotten war, Mariner wandered the battlements of a fortress carved into the mountain-side. Banners drifted lazily on their posts; in a cold wind heralding the coming of winter. A light snow had even begun to fall, dusting the stones with blue frost and obscuring the vast arc of the sky with threads of mist and clouds. But it wasn’t until the first butterfly appeared that the young _ashvani_ had any sense that he was still lost in the depths of an unending dream. None of this was real? Wasn’t it?

The first few flitted down to settle onto the flagstones before leaping up again into a whirl of activity that led Mariner towards an outer courtyard filled with stacked-stone cairns. It initially did occur to him that this was peculiar, to be wandering aimlessly among the graves of the honored dead, but as more and more of the strikingly orange and black butterflies appeared, he felt at ease. Having seen them for most of his life, they were more of a comfort now than anything else. Tiny, flimsy, sprigs of flame that had never before led him into danger and didn’t seem intent on doing so now. They bounced from small white flower to white flower; through the delicate snowdrops that often appeared on the mounds and through the cracks in the masonry. Or was it cracks in the edifice of his own memory? Then, the shadows fell.

A figure moved through the field with a merciless kind of purpose. Hunting, as he always did. Following a scent and a trail only he could perceive. Occasionally, the butterflies would burst up from his step and reconvene along a nearby wall, other times they would fill the air at his back and momentarily distract him from his quarry, who had ducked below the line of sight as soon as the darkness had returned. But Mariner did not run this time, nor did he feel the need to. He wanted to see his pursuer; wanted to face him and to, at last, remember him.

When Solas appeared, he seemed far more reticent than ever before. Scanning the grounds of the castle with a wary eye and a disbelieving posture. He was dressed simply, in a thick wool tunic, leggings, and foot wraps; sans staff this time but with a heavy wolf pelt tied around his shoulders to protect against the wind. But Mariner was instantly fascinated. It was clear that the other elf had not yet seen him but had certainly felt his presence nearby. His gaze darted from cairn to cairn, searching.

Solas looked different than other elves that Mariner knew; City, Dalish, or Elusivir. He did not wear the vallaslin, nor any complicated braids (or hair at all, actually) but Mariner could have sworn that he had memories of him with a disarray of dark, confused, locks and that same pensive set to his jaw. He did not dress as the City elves did nor wear any insignia of the alienages but his minimalist attire marked him all the same. And, of course, he did not carry a caravan coat nor did he have any hint of the embroidery that would indicate affiliation with the unbound trains of the Kirinae Elusivir. He was timeless, in a sense. Like someone newly arrived from another age, or another world.

But Mariner found that he quite liked the look of him. Pale skin freckled with rain and sun. A wide brow furrowed now with sober concern. High cheekbones and broad shoulders unbowed even from an eon of unspoken burdens. He was Pride incarnate; honor and ego, arrogance and disdain, but also joy in the beauty of all that surrounded him. Exultation in the glory of accomplishment and victory over great hardship. Pride in himself, but pride in others as well. And through it all, Mariner could not deny that he knew this _ash_, even if he couldn’t explain how. He was familiar as family, and distant as the nostalgia for childhood.

Mariner stepped out from the mossy fall underneath which he had been veiled and allowed Solas to see him. When he did, the look in his eyes nearly stole his breath away. Intense, merciless, and wanting but kind. In fact, he gentled at the sight of him. With tentative steps, the elder elf approached. His hands were clenched into fists and a distinct hitch of doubt stuttered his breathing.

“How can this be?” He whispered, cocking his head incredulously. “How can you….?”

The _ashvani_ approached in return but cautiously. “I remember you.” Mariner said. “But I cannot place you. It’s like something from another life; a memory that has lingered on somewhere else in the world. It’s mine but …it does not come from me.”

Solas looked as though he might come towards him further but then he hesitated and seemed to think better of it. “That it has continued to live on at all is more than I can ever have asked for. That you live is…” His voice caught in his throat.

“I’m here.” Mariner replied, almost reflexively. “I’m here …and I need you. Something terrible is…”

Solas eyes came up at that and he immediately tensed. “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

“In a port city that once held a temple even the Elvhen no longer remember. Two statues facing each other over a pool where a faded shard murmurs ancient words into the waking world. I hear it and that’s why I think I can recognize you. The water tells me who you are. But the slave-masters are here too.” Mariner almost choked up in his despair. “We’re all in chains now and they intend to make of us chattel for the worst kind of trade. Serenic. But I cannot escape. Because I cannot leave them.”

“I will come for you.” Solas hissed, finally taking his last few steps forward and into the morass of butterflies. “I will find you.”

Mariner wasn’t sure at what point Solas reached him but within a moment he had fallen into his arms and begun to weep. He still couldn’t explain it; the rush of emotions that suddenly overtook him at embracing the elder _ash_. He felt as though he had come home after a lifetime of wandering in the wilderness; that here he had finally found the bond-mate he’d been searching for, one whom he had thought long vanished and whose mere warmth and heartbeat filled in the missing pieces of his soul.

Solas was obviously just as affected; pulling Mariner into a crushing hold, as if he dared not let him slip even one more inch. His muted breaths, gentle against the _ashvani’s_ cheek were just as warm as the rest of him and Mariner could not help but to become acutely aware of just how their bodies were pressed together. Chest to chest, legs to thigh, with two strong arms at his back and the other’s mouth a hair’s breadth away. Mariner pondered a moment; briefly imagining all that should already be happening to his lifeless form, so far away now in the conscious world. And then growing bitter and angry that he was not to be afforded the joining that he would choose. The return that was so necessary to make everything right. This was the one he needed. This was the one that needed him.

Solas startled when he felt the first touch of lips at his neck; drawing back to look down at the bright blue eyes staring up at him. But he hardly needed to ask for clarification; he could see the reasoning in Mariner’s face. The _ashvani_ smiled when he felt the other acquiesce, tilting his head to finally bring them both together in an exploratory kiss. 

It lingered but not nearly as long as either would have liked. When Solas pulled back, Mariner went to follow him but was stopped when the elder’s hand came up to caress his cheek.

“And yet you cannot be.” He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against the bridge of Mariner’s. “I saw you destroyed. The Veil rending you completely. I all but ransacked the world in search of you but there was nothing that remained. Aras Telvanni darem’haim o alas’en.” (The White Hart was gone from the world).

“I think that was true…at first.” Mariner answered, still delighting in the feel of Solas’ hands at his waist and his chest beneath his own fingers. “But there was something left…someone who remembered you. I remember you. And for that reason…I am here. But I feel like a ghost. Like ashes scattered after a eulogy. Solas? How do I do this? How do I find my way back?”

“If you can know me, you can know yourself.” He answered. “Wherever the memories fell, wherever a part of you still exists, you will be drawn towards it. Do you not see? It is the butterflies, da’len. The dusts of memory leading you into metamorphosis. Into renewal. From the secret places that have concealed you for all of this time. I am sorry, vhenan. My love. I did not see it was you until now.”

Mariner smiled. These were the whispered words he had so longed to one day hear. These were the first of so many missing pieces he would need to retrieve before the truth would again be made plain. So much still in doubt, but at last, so much more laid bare. He was a spirit, a broken wraith, a memory from a cataclysm of long before; but he was also alive. His was an essence that had endured.

Courage suddenly found him in the manner of him lifting both hands to cradle Solas’ face between them and the smoothness of it encouraged him to splay his fingers so that he might have contact with the elder elf from his temples to his mouth. Solas’ tensed uneasily for a moment but then leaned into the contact; starved it would seem, for any hint of a loving touch. When he opened his eyes once more; slowly, thoughtfully, they were full of something burning but tinged with fearful secrets. Mariner’s pulse quickened as he felt heat begin to pool low in his abdomen, stirring him back to life with the first flare of arousal. There were many ways to know things in the Fade.

Solas summarily abandoned his previous discretion and immediately brought the smaller elf’s mouth to his for a hungry kiss; inclining his head and parting his lips just enough to claim his tongue as soon as it is offered. It played out with a measure of desperation but even more than that, Mariner seemed rather intent on burying himself in Solas’ embrace; ensuring that his was the only touch he would ever remember.

It was not long before the _ashvani_ felt himself lifted off of his feet and lowered onto the soft billows of grass. He could feel the press of chaste kisses lavished along his collarbone. Calloused but nimble hands undid the first few buttons at the top of his coat and soon enough, Solas’ lips began an upward ascent, sliding over the contours of his throat and leaving subtle marks along the tendon to his ear. Mariner shuddered but tried to hold still, shivers wracking his body with the deep sting of desire. But it wasn’t quite enough.

“Do you know my name?” He asked. “Do you know who I am as I do you?”

“A name? Yes.” Solas replied restlessly. “I know you.”

“Then say it. Say what it is that I cannot remember.”

There was a pause.

“Maera.” He breathed. “Faith, loyalty, steadfast until the very end. The one none could dissuade and who would not give in to despair. The last hope. Your name…has always been Maera. Called Maren órë, the fire at the heart of the home, by the Ancients. It is from this that the Elusivir Oracles call you Mariner. They did not understand its meaning.”

Mariner smiled, relaxing into the furrowed tussocks as Solas’s weight pressed him down. “Maera. Yes…. that seems…. right.”

“More than you know.”

Solas’ hand found its way to Mariner’s chin, where he held his gaze steady as his other hand continued to divest the _ashvani_ of his long coat, under-tunic, and other accouterments of the Kria. Mariner closed his eyes and simply allowed himself the pleasure of feeling dexterous fingers dance over his skin, chasing away his fevered worries and speculative terrors. Even when Solas shifted and his breath came to hover close to his lips, Mariner did not open them; fearful that the dread and panic would return if he did.

Solas claimed him with a kiss then and Mariner did not have the option to turn away. Not that he would have, seeing as it wouldn’t have much mattered in the end. Instead, he allowed himself to be swept away in the sensations the other was awakening within him, in the heat and insistence of his lips and the way in which Solas nearly bit his mouth into open submission. It would appear that the elder elf was, by all clues, an assertive and commanding lover but not inconsiderate. He tasted of snow and honey, and again Mariner was struck by the notion of something familiar. He then felt the urge to squeeze his thighs together; anything to lessen the ache that was blossoming between them but as Solas was resting so firmly against him, he only succeeded in pulling him closer.

Mariner’s lips were nipped and pricked with bites that nearly tore through them but not once did Solas actually break his skin. He did, however, leave them swollen, red, and still wanting for more of his mouth. Mariner whined impatiently when he felt the other trailing away but he was not bereft as he felt Solas refocus his attentions on his neck and then down to his shoulder. He continued to leave pinpoint bruises on almost every inch of exposed skin, littering Mariner’s collarbone with affectionate marks. Mariner lifted his hips into his lover, seeking better friction as his body began to thrum with anticipation. Solas, for his part, seemed happy enough to give him the ridge of his thigh to press against.

Mariner felt like he was still sinking but he at least had the wherewithal to begin pulling Solas free of his clothes. A cool tongue laved across his sternum and it made him twitch. Solas was keeping his ministrations slow and patient, taking his time to tease the other into a near frenzy. Mariner’s breath grew shorter and more rushed, one of his hands almost reflexively reaching to tangle in dark locks that were no longer there. Instead, it resulted in his hand gripping onto the back of Solas’ neck. Even in the heat of the moment however, Mariner was coherent enough to appreciate the feel of his soft skin and the tension in strong muscles.

If that weren’t enough to demonstrate to Solas that his partner was enjoying the pleasure he was giving him, Mariner’s whispered moans certainly did. “Please…” Was nearly the sum total of his current vocabulary. “Please…I need…” But at that, Mariner nearly dissolved into trembling as soon as he felt Solas’ hand slide down his side and brush against his inner thigh. 

Mariner peeked shyly through his lashes to take in the sight of the other still lavishing attention onto his chest and abdomen. Solas was also saying something to him but he couldn’t quite understand his words. The Fade had taken on a deeply somnambulant quality and he felt himself drifting, almost like he was sleep-walking. Everything around them seemed to fall away into nothingness and all he could feel was something soft and giving at his back, contrasted against the hard, wanting, body above him. The Dream was taking him again, taking them both, and spiraling down into the depths of the most primal and the most secret parts of the mind.

As Solas continued to plant wet kisses against him, he was also beginning to whisper ardent praises against his skin. He was admonishing Maera for ever having left him, for being a fool to return to him, for tempting him so sweetly, for lying beneath him again and sundering his sorrowful world apart. He then implored his lover to stay close to him, to want him, and even to rule him. When Mariner felt him drag his tongue from the divot at the base of his throat to his bottom lip, he laughed gently and tried to chase him down before murmuring approval into Solas’ shoulder. Solas turned immediately and the kiss that followed was the hungriest yet.

It was a strange kind of awareness when Mariner realized that there was nothing else between them any longer; that they were skin against skin, surrounded by darkness and warmth. In a way, he could almost no longer even see Solas; just feel him, taste him, and touch him. The Fade was responding to him as his lover was; the both of them, spirit and spirit world, enveloping him in a cocoon of passion and protection. When Mariner pressed his face into Solas neck, he carefully loosed his thighs to invite the other between them. When his lover settled there without hesitation, he wrapped both arms over his shoulders and waited for him to finally join them together as he had before.

Solas didn’t, at least, not right away. The otherworldliness of their encounter still had Mariner reeling somewhat, muddled and distracted as he tried to keep his grip on reason. But the Fade had other plans and as Solas continued with his captivation in the nuances of Mariner’s body, the _ashvani_ wavered in and out of attention. One moment he could have sworn that someone was speaking to him, though as if from a great distance, and in another moment, there was nothing but the feel of Solas’ body and movements all around him. The contented sigh that spilled from him spurred the elder elf onwards.

Solas had already easily picked up on the readiness in the impatient form below him and he finally relented. With gentle pressure, he took a hold of Mariner’s hips as he guided him down to slide slightly lower before placing one palm flat against the _ashvani’s_ thigh; lightly encouraging him to part them further. Mariner was unfocused but complied without question, soothed as it were by Solas’ deep, gentle, voice. “Enas durlahn, vhenan. Ar emas ma.” (Be still, heart. I have you.)

Mariner felt Solas’ weight briefly lift away from him and it was almost enough to force his eyes open if not for the fact that he still had both arms securely around his neck. But he did not go far and in a breath, Mariner felt the sudden, tight, strain of his lover’s length entering him. He arched but Solas held fast and kept the _ashvani_ pinned as he finally took him in a single, powerful, stroke.

Mariner's hands loosened and began to reach blindly for whatever they could find. In short order, they found the shallow dip in Solas’ lower back and the sharp lines of his spine gliding against his fingers as he found the depth and angle that he liked the most. For a moment, Mariner was terribly distracted by the flustered sounds emanating from Solas, his breaths growling out in sharp, short, huffs.

And then that awful relentless burning of desire descended once more and he anxiously pulled Solas’ hips forward, feeling the other sinking into him as he buried himself completely. Solas’ voice stuttered in a soft but surprised cry and the moan that slipped past his lips was both pained and needy. The feeling of the Mariner’s nails curling against his chest sent tingling lines of pain scattering across his skin.

Solas then braced himself and began to rock against his lover. His steady, firm, pace was immediately what Mariner wanted from him and he began to pant with the effort of remaining compliant under Solas insistent thrusts. Solas was only too happy to give him everything, and with each roll of his hips, he pulled the smaller elf against him and allowed him to arch up against his chest. The first time he did so, he also heard a sharp gasp tear raggedly from Mariner’s throat but the sound soon dwindled into a shaky moan that trembled almost as much as Solas’ hands did.

Time passed curiously for the both of them in a way that neither could measure. All that remained were the beats of their movement complementary to the pulse and rhythm of bodies and infinity. The constant shift between fluttering breaths and eager moans that cut each other off depending on how one or the other moved, became the only way they had a sense of moments, or minutes, or days. Every once in a while, Solas would feel Mariner go taut beneath him, his breathing catching on pure silence, only for the lines of tension to melt from his body as they continued rolling against one another.

But it could not last forever.

Solas’ hand slid back to Mariner’s thigh, while the other tugged hard at his hip, drawing him flush against him with rough force. He felt the _ashvani_ shudder stiffly, though the noise it pushed from his throat is what caught the elder elf’s attention. It was a sharp cry, louder than any noise he'd made yet but it only inspired Solas to repeat the action, earning him a second, if more frustrated, kind of howl.

It did nothing, however, to subtract from the need that consumed them; the desperation that begged Solas to fuck the _ashvani_ senseless until one or both of them reached their end. In a wry bit of internal humor, Solas also imagined how angry, how utterly apoplectic, the Imperial masters would be if only they knew the power of the Serenic that could be exchanged between them; that would be, the moment Maera was in his arms in the physical world once again. A truly supernatural alchemy that could change the nature of war and peace forever. It nearly drove Solas to outright lustful defiance.

Mariner’s hands fumbled for the _ash_ above him and when he finally managed to grasp him by his forearms, he yanked Solas down; pulling him into a kiss that seemed unnecessarily violent. But he received in return everything that he gave. For every painful scrape of his teeth at Solas’ lips, he felt the same to his own.

Regardless, Mariner could feel the pleasure mounting, everything around him and within him growing hotter and hotter until his fingers dug into tense flesh and his legs wrapped tightly around strong hips. He could also feel the first twitches of overstimulation and the growing sense of urgency that alerted him to the oncoming orgasm that was now nigh inevitable. For a moment, Mariner feared that he would be robbed of his will entirely at this pace but then his lover was quite literally collapsing against him, shaking with fierce and unrepentant desire.

The _ashvani’s_ head was hidden in the crook of Solas neck, and his voice was, at first almost unbearably loud as his moans escalated into a crescendo that peaked on a single, drawn out, sob of carnal pleasure. And then, he was falling from his apex; quietening and growing further reserved as Solas drove harder into him, taking possession of him body and soul. Mariner gave into it willingly. But no matter how he moved, Mariner could only feel the sensual slide of their passion-slicked skin as his lover chased him down to his own end. He found it soon thereafter. Mariner barely had enough time to experience the first waves of his lover’s release before the feel of Solas’ mouth clamping over the base of his neck was interrupted with a sharp jolt of pain.

But even that was only briefly felt as it melded seamlessly into the hum of his own orgasm and sent Mariner into a fit of tremors as his mate instinctively marked him. Adding to it the sensation of the other mouthing hungrily at his neck at last sent his mind into complete static. Flashes of colors and light, images and thoughts, memories of something so long past that even the rock and stone had forgotten what once was. In a peculiar bit of inspiration, Mariner actually smiled slightly at the thought how he might yet help Fenris as well. Memory, after all, seemed to be something he was getting a fair amount of experience with lately.

Solas’ lips brought him back to the present moment as his arms wound tightly around the _ashvani’s_ midsection; hugging him close with sudden and all-engulfing affection. Mariner could feel the sense of vertigo assaulting him at the feel of the other drawing further into him but the dizziness only lent to the unbelievable high he was all too happy to continue riding in that moment. And then, as the effects of his release began to subside, the pleasure of the pairing and the bite faded into a warm numbness. Only the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. His senses dimmed but the anger, and the fear, were gone. 

“I will find you.” He heard it but it was faint. “I will find you. There is nothing that can keep me from you.”

Mariner wasn’t sure when unconsciousness finally took him again but he awoke to an unexpected sight.

Most unexpected, indeed.


	17. Washing Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Whew**

**Chapter 17 – Washing Water**

The basin at his feet was already stained a dark red and Fenris wasn’t sure the wadded cloth in his hand could take much more either. He’d managed to get most of the blood out of his hair and off of his face, but the rest of him was proving to be a bit of a challenge. At this point, he was nearly resigned to the fact that he’d be finding spots of it for weeks, if not in the creases of his skin then on his clothes or in his armor. He sighed and glanced over at the roaring fireplace. Ever since they’d all arrived back at the Merchant’s Guild, Varric, Hawke, and the _ashvani_ had been keen enough to give him space; leaving him to his personal ministrations in a room on the top level of the hall. 

Somewhere below he could still hear Senaht arguing with Lyric. While Aurvandil had been stabilized even before their escape from Ravenica’s estate, it turned out that the two of them both had strong opinions as to what treatments should be administered next. This was, of course, all despite the fact that the youngest _ashvani_ was completely awake and coherent, and not especially inclined to be fussed with despite the large bandage wrapped around his neck. Mariner was also still asleep, but that was to be expected. It didn’t stop them from crowding around the pallet they’d left him on, however, and speculating as to the best way of counteracting the sleeping agent he’d been given. Varric was also clearly doing his best to direct the lot of them towards the dining room and tavern on the first level but he wasn’t having much of an effect. It didn’t matter though. It gave them all something to do, apparently. 

Fenris sighed and leaned back into the chair. He was still in a mood; unsure as to whether he wanted company or solitude, or maybe just the opportunity to sit unnoticed in a crowd while he drank himself numb to the pleasing banter of his friends and compatriots. There didn’t seem to be any wine anywhere in the Guild House, however. Which was another problem.

To Fenris’ surprise the door suddenly swung open, and for the second time in the same day, Liam Hawke came crashing over the threshold with a triumphant shout. Which was odd, considering that Fenris hadn’t even heard him coming up the stairs.

“Alright!” He announced. “I think I’ve had about as much of this as I can take.”

With a wide-eyed look of concern, Fenris was about to ask him what exactly he meant by that when Hawke unceremoniously began to strip in the middle of the room. First, he struggled with the puffy jacket, peeling it over his head and flinging it into the corner with a satisfied noise. The loose shirt went next, followed by the slipper shoes, and then some kind of glittery belt and under-vest Fenris hadn’t even noticed until now. The impromptu burlesque was then topped off when Hawke flopped onto the bed to wrestle his way out of the striped tights, still stiff and sticky with dried gore. Once free of them, however, Fenris watched as Hawke crumpled them up in his hand and then abruptly lobbed them directly into the fireplace.

As the tights vanished in a crackle and spark, Fenris couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow and regard Hawke’s wolfish grin with a measure of concern.

“I take it that’s a ‘no’ on the tights, then?”

Standing tall and confident in just his small-clothes, the mage crossed his arms and looked over to where Fenris was sitting. “No sense in giving anyone any further ideas. Those things were hideous and I’m not wearing anything like that ever again.”

Fenris couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Liam Hawke was the only person he knew who could look abjectly ridiculous and still command attention and respect from everyone in the room. In fact, he could probably hold a war council naked and still expect to be taken seriously. All broad chest, wide shoulders, thick, dark, hair, and a bold stance. It was just his way.

Fenris had a similar sense of aplomb when Hawke finally approached him; casually kneeling down onto the rug next to the chair as he pried the ruined washcloth from Fenris’ fingers. He looked at it, glanced over at the fireplace, looked at it again, and then consigned it to the fire as well.

Fenris gave him a look as if to ask whether or not he planned on burning all of their clothes, but in short order Hawke had rummaged around long enough to produce a clean towel and a new basin of water. He then set about to gently wash Fenris of the remaining splatters and stains he hadn’t yet reached. The volatile elf sighed again but allowed his lover to perform this small comfort; actually quite enjoying the feel of the rough terry-cloth on his arms and chest. He had already divested himself earlier of his armor and tunic in an effort to scrub clean and remained seated in only his leggings as Hawke lovingly wiped away the outward evidence of violence from his body.

“You don’t have to do that.” He muttered, almost reflexively.

“I know.” Was now Hawke’s automatic answer. “But I like touching you. Besides…I…missed you. I was worried.”

Fenris shook his head. “I knew you’d come. It was just a question of when. But I never doubted for a moment that you’d be looking for us or that you would find us.”

Hawke smiled as he cleaned away another subtle tinge of red. “Well, good. Seems like you’ve finally gotten the hint then.”

“Hint?”

“Yes.” The mage grumbled good-naturedly. “You finally get that I love you. And I would never leave you. No matter what. Crazy Tevinter drug-slavers, mercenaries, spirit-possessed third-gender elves, Varric’s cooking, and stupid clothes. It’s you and me, Fen. You and me against the world. What did I tell you about stranger places?”

Fenris suppressed a shiver as Hawke rose up between his knees, trailing his fingertips along the top of his thigh as he teased at his mouth with soft nips. “Strange or not, though. No one touches you like this but me. No one has you but me. And I’ll incinerate any magister or court snot who dares to try.”

At this point, Hawke had no particular interest in hearing Fenris’ reply so he immediately nudged the tip of his tongue against his lover’s lips, easing his mouth open and delving in for a deep, consuming, kiss. The mage felt rather than heard him groan in response; a vibration that started deep in his chest and reverberated outward into a pleased hum. He was also exceptionally happy to feel Fenris’ hands slide up his biceps and onto his shoulders, tracing the lines of his body hungrily.

“You really want me…like this? Right now?” Fenris huffed against Hawke’s jaw when they finally parted. 

Hawke cocked his head and dropped his hands to pull Fenris’ hips further forward to the edge of the chair. “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. Even right after you’d just punched some poor idiot right through the heart. Before a fight, after a fight, it really doesn’t matter, Fen.”

“I’m filthy, Hawke. You’re filthy.”

The mage chuckled and laved his tongue down the other’s throat. “Not as filthy as I’m going to make you.”

In an inexplicably affectionate gesture, Fenris began to sift his fingers through Hawke’s short, black, hair while murmuring something almost too low to hear. “No, Hawke. You’ve made me clean.”

There was a flush high to Fenris’ cheeks that Hawke did not recall him ever having before; rosy pink beneath his lightly tanned complexion. His eyes were closed, his mouth trained onto the pulse point at the mage’s temple. The look of utter contentment on his face set Hawke to work, promising himself that he’d have his lover wistful and satisfied before the night was over. He pressed his tongue to the base of Fenris’ neck, to that small impression in his skin that he’d discovered years ago, and then licked over the curve of his throat, up along the side of his jaw and to the base of his ear.

He then took a mouthful of skin and bit down. Hard.

Fenris’ grip tightened into a vice and as he pulled Hawke flush against him with a strangled gasp, he tipped off of the edge of the chair and directly into Hawke’s lap; straddling him on the rug as he was pulled into a strong, responsive, embrace. With Hawke’s hips fitting deliciously between his thighs, the friction against his core was divine. Fenris hadn’t realized how bottled-up he had been for the last several days and when the mage ground against him by gripping his backside and pulling him forward, he growled and almost choked, desperate for air.

When Hawke’s name was breathlessly groaned out, the mage shifted beneath him. Fenris felt a short jerk of his hips, needy and uncontrolled, pressing a hard length of desire against him. In response, the elf was about to reach down and stroke his lover through his small-clothes when he was suddenly lifted up and laid back onto the rug. His whole body shuddered at the gentle handling and his fingers began to dig intuitively into the taut skin of Hawke’s broad shoulders as his lover quickly moved down his body through a swath of kisses and bites. Almost instantly, Hawke’s hands were undoing the lacings of his leggings, pulling them down over the rise of the elf’s hips, sweeping them off his thighs and then tossing them back onto the chair (and thankfully, not into the fire).

Hawke’s lips continued to travel a frantic path over Fenris' chest, to his stomach, and further; his tongue caressing every inch he could reach but not stopping to explore overly long; even at his favorite places. Fenris couldn’t have cared less and his nails had already left rising red welts down Hawke’s back as he’d slid out of his grasp. But when his lover finally reached his obvious need, he paused.

Instead of taking Fenris into his mouth (as he knew he enjoyed enormously), Hawke showered a series of kisses against Fenris’s side, to his hip, and then to the tender inside of his thigh. As his lover arched, his back rolling with a wave of pleasure as it traveled down his spine, Hawke was further encouraged. He nipped along the outline of the lyrium tattoos there, eliciting another breathless moan and another reflexive thrust of Fenris’ hips. The mage smiled, despite himself, and anchored both of Fenris’ thighs with his hands; opening him up and settling between his legs to begin his work in earnest. 

Fenris shuddered and tensed. Hawke hadn’t even really touched him yet and already he felt like he was one indecent lick away from losing himself. Even worse, it was clear what Hawke meant to do and Fenris feared that he wouldn’t last more than few hard pulls from that talented mouth. He cursed himself, cursed the mage, cursed his failing resolve, cursed his body for wanting this so obnoxiously much and for this human’s unbelievable capacity to excite him to the point of sobbing even under the absolute worst circumstances. It was starting to become a real possibility that Hawke would soon be able to make him come straight-up in the middle of battle at this rate.

Hawke’s mouth finally found him and trailed the flat of his tongue across Fenris’ length, along the underside, and then teasing at the head before sliding back down to the base. Fenris could do nothing to stop himself from tensing as his eyes fell shut. There was no sense in resisting, even if only in a token sense, so he simply allowed his head to roll back onto the rug as he moaned approvingly. But it really was as he’d feared. One touch had nearly finished him. Fenris could feel the heat and pressure behind his eyes, stinging in his gut, and moving upward from his core to his neck to the top of his head as he tried to regain his grip. It was all he could do to still his hips from instinctively thrusting into Hawke’s incredible warmth because he knew that if he did, he would be spilling into his lover’s throat within the next few seconds.

“Wait…Hawke…. please…”

“Fenris, it’s ok.” The mage’s soothingly deep voice washed over him. “I know what you need and I’m going to take care of you. But there’s a lot more after this. So, just relax. We’re only getting started.”

Fenris answered him with a breathless laugh. If Hawke wanted to pleasure him senseless then there was no point in arguing. So, he laid back, stretching out so that his lover could watch him come undone in the firelight. So that he could lose himself to it and to Hawke’s love, unhindered. With a pensive thrust of his hips, Fenris guided his lover’s mouth back to his desire. With some amusement, he momentarily caught sight of the mage’s grin before he was upon him. 

Liam was always so _hot_, like being immersed in a tropical spring, and he seemed intent on tasting every inch of him. First, it was his tongue; following each curve and vein and then his mouth, suckling at the tip of him before engulfing him whole. Fenris had no choice but to brace his elbows against the floor, otherwise his scrabbling fingers might threaten to drag him off the carpets and onto the hearth. But then Hawke began to swallow around him, his hands pressed to Fenris’ thighs to keep him from tightening around his head, but also to pull him closer and to take him in deeper. It was then that Fenris finally cried out. He could feel every twitch, every flick of his lover’s tongue, every bit of pressure when the mage drew back and hollowed his cheeks. Fenris’ hands left the rug to tangle into uncombed locks, attempting to warn his lover that he was on a knife edge.

In a last attempt to stave off the inevitable, Fenris arched. But his control was nonexistent and Hawke didn’t relent. It was a call and response he simply couldn’t defy. Distantly, he could hear his own breath, gasping and heaving for air, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now beyond the man pressed against him.

When Fenris began to writhe, Hawke held him fast, not letting him take even a moment’s respite. He wanted Fenris to fall apart, to give up his control, and in doing so, to give up his pain as well. The precipice was thin, so Hawke did exactly what he knew what shatter his lover the quickest. He moaned around him.

The pressure broke and Fenris bucked hard as he spilled himself into Hawke’s mouth. His fingers clenched tightly into the fringes along the edge of the plush rug, tearing the threads as he faltered and fell. The pressure snapped and as Hawke swallowed around him, Fenris growled, and yelled, and swore; the tumult of words in Common and Tevene flowing together into a nonsensical rush. 

His release was brutal, forcing his grip back into Hawke’s hair as he gave several thrusts hard enough to bruise. All of his pent-up anger and panic poured out of the cracks in his façade, only to be filled up again with need and desire. Fenris almost reeled at what felt like the cruelty of his release, but Hawke wasn’t attempting to push him away, but was rather holding him even closer; taking him in greedily. The orgasm was primal and deeply satisfying as each undulation brought another wave of ecstasy, and within moments Fenris was digging his nails into the back of his lover’s neck, forcing him to still as he rocked against him. His lover’s moans shook the last of Fenris sensibilities loose and he hissed through his own groans for Hawke to take him, hold him down, to force his submission, and fuck him until he begged for mercy.

Finally, when it felt like there wasn’t a single drop of his soul left in him, Fenris entire body flopped lifelessly onto the floor as Hawke released him and grinned.

“Is that what you really want?”

Fenris blushed despite himself. He’d spoken rashly, in the desperate heat of the moment. But he also meant it. In fact, he was even a little surprised at how much he did.

“Yes.” He ground out. No matter how intimate he became with Hawke, Fenris always seemed to have trouble asking for what he wanted. Even now, he was still hesitant about admitting to it. Unsure even about his own sincerity. Given his history, he almost didn’t even believe Hawke would agree to what he sometimes thought about. Wasn’t all that sure _he_ would agree to the things he sometimes thought about. But before he’d had the time to become morose about second-guessing himself, Fenris was suddenly flipped onto his stomach and pinned beneath Hawke’s larger weight flattening against his back."

With luxuriant slowness, the mage nuzzled at his ear before drawing the end of it into his mouth and murmuring. “All you have to do is say stop. Got it?”

Fenris nodded, still somewhat intent on burying the embarrassed look on his face into the pile of the rug. 

“Good.”

It was the last warning he’d receive. 

When one of Hawke’s hands grabbed him by the back of the neck again and held him down, Fenris didn’t fight him. While the other worked to prepare him, he only growled lowly; pressing his hips backwards into his lover’s skilled touch with sharp gasps.

“Take it easy,” Hawke whispered, bending his fingers in order to begin stretching the tense, tight, elf. He could feel the muscles throughout Fenris’ entire body clenching, releasing, and quivering around his invading fingers. “I’ll give you what you need.” He brought the pad of his index finger up against the slight lump of his captive’s prostate, knowing it would subdue Fenris, at least temporarily. The elf groaned and struggled slightly but his strength bled out in reaction to the unexpected shudder of pleasure. “See? Just relax,” Hawke purred into his ear as he did it again. “Open up for me. Just like that.” He curled his fingers back and forth over the spot and chuckled as his normally impassive lover began to whimper. Hawke loved to watch Fenris’ resistance fade as he let himself be swallowed up in the experience rather than, as he had so often done as a slave, dissociate himself from the things happening around him and to him.

The mage didn’t stop coaxing and caressing his pinned lover until he felt him relax completely and begin to harden again. Soon enough, to the mage’s delight, Fenris was a panting, trembling, wreck beneath him. Though he still hadn’t taken to begging again just yet. Rather, he remained completely silent if still deliciously pliable. When he was satisfied with Fenris’ surrender, he pulled his hand free and let go of the back of his neck, pausing to stroke Fenris’ sweat-dampened bangs out of his eyes. “Don’t move.” Hawke ordered softly as he leaned up and reached into an inner pocket of his discarded jacket.

When he returned, Fenris felt one of Hawke’s hands press firmly between his shoulder blades to hold him still while the other gently encouraged him to raise his hips slightly and to spread his thighs a bit further. All of this was quite expected and he complied happily, but when he felt a strap of leather wrap around each of his wrists to be brought together and tied over his head, he went completely rigid. But Hawke’s soothing voice and gentle hands remained.

“Just say the word and I’ll take it off.”

Fenris was at a complete loss for words. He’d been bound before, of course, but never intimately. In those days his sexual submission had come at the hands of the not-so-subtly implied threat of violence and further degradation if he failed to obey his master’s commands. And for that reason, he’d always presumed that he would never willingly allow himself to be tied; not by anyone for any reason. But this was so different, so strange to his senses. Hawke was being his usual loving, temperate, self; taking care to see to Fenris’ pleasure and comfort each step of the way. But contrasted to the bindings now securing his restraint, he felt that he was both at the mercy of Hawke’s desires and also in complete control of them. He wanted this but he could also free himself at any time without danger. It was exciting him beyond his capacity for speech. In that moment, he realized that this is what it meant to feel safe. His only outward response to the chaotic inner turmoil he was experiencing, however, was a curt nod of acknowledgement.

“Nice and slow.” Hawke sighed, once again taking up his position at Fenris’ back.

Hawke slid his hands over Fenris’ shoulders and chest, eliciting another muted moan as he touched him. It turned the mage on to no end that his lover was allowing him to, for the moment, manipulate his body as he pleased. He’d always wondered whether or not Fenris ever craved domination of any kind, even if just to prove to himself that he could still trust. Fenris’ words moments before, when climax had momentarily overwhelmed him, had finally given Hawke the courage to try this and he was not sorry that he had.

When Hawke briefly leaned away from his lover to rid himself of his small-clothes, he caught sight of Fenris turning his head to watch him over his shoulder. The wanton, impatient, look was almost his undoing. But then he returned, pressing the elf down completely onto the rug as he brought himself up to his prepared entrance.

“Is it too much?” The mage asked in a tense voice, pushing forward only enough to tease.

“Not yet.” Came the breathless reply.

So intimately positioned, Hawke did not even need his hands to further guide himself and instead tangled one of them into Fenris’ hair so that he might tilt his head back while the other braced his weight at their side. But when he finally nudged into the elf’s tight, warm, sheath he had to stop for a moment and catch his breath. Pleasuring Fenris up to this point had brought Hawke to a state of arousal almost as painful as his lover’s.

Fenris clenched his teeth on a moan as Hawke’s welcomed length drove into him, all the way to the hilt in a fluid, practiced, motion. He felt it throbbing inside of him as the mage paused to allow him to catch his breath, resting his forehead against his shoulder with a frustrated hiss.

“Are _you_ alright?” Fenris inquired as evenly as possible. Hawke’s answer came in the form of a deft squeeze on the elf’s backside, making Fenris smile and huff lightly.

Then Hawke began to move; carefully and steadily. He stroked Fenris’ back, his neck, and up onto his bound arms as he rocked slowly against him, kissing his neck and murmuring breathlessly. It was moments like this that often made Hawke so difficult to predict and thus, so unbelievably good at their erotic encounters. He was either intent on making Fenris scream with a combination of pointed pain and unrelenting pleasure or he was making love to him, tenderly and without even a hint of force. He could also easily switch from one technique from the other, in whatever way the moment took them.

Hawke maintained the slow, easy, motions of his hips; all the while nipping along his lover’s neck. Fenris was quite content to remain this way for some time, as it turned out, until the mage’s hand suddenly stole beneath him and began to stroke his renewed erection in time with the thrusts he was receiving. The elf shivered. He’d already come once this evening, spectacularly so, but it was clear that Hawke had every intention of bringing him to that point again. And with the exquisite combination of the mage’s fluently stroking hand and the firm push of his length inside of him, it brought the tension in his body to a peak. Hawke simply knew him too well.

“Kaffas!” Fenris gasped as he felt his orgasm burst up from his center, coiling around him and tying him down just as effectively as the leather straps and the weight of his lover. He bowed his head and grunted as he came in rapid, thick, spurts; his hips simultaneously trying to rut forward and to push back against the rhythm that had now picked up speed. Hawke’s lips trailed gasping kisses along his neck and ear as he quivered through his thrusts. The mage then pushed in deep and held his position firmly while Fenris’ climax played out below him. He was simply beautiful like this and Hawke never tired of watching his lover lost to the bliss of their coupling.

“Hawke…” Fenris panted into the floor, feeling like he was spilling every ounce of essence he still had. It was like being doused in his lover’s fire magic; burning him away and healing him all at the same time. Finally, it ended and the mage released his spent organ so as to bring his hand back up to cup his jaw, directing him to turn his head to the side for a fervent kiss. 

But Hawke was not yet finished, and Fenris instinctively set his arms and knees against the floor in response to the shift in his lover’s body language. Hawke broke the kiss after a few seconds and swiped the tip of his tongue over the elf’s flushed and parted lips. “Hold on.” he murmured darkly; just as he grabbed Fenris’ narrow hips with both hands and gave him a hard, deep, thrust. This was going to leave some marks.

Fenris somehow managed to contain the cry that tried to burst from his mouth as his lover slammed into his body again and again; pulling him back slightly and raising him up onto his knees enough to gain significant leverage. Hawke was nigh incoherent; fucking him with powerful thrusts that left him shaken and unsteady. But the mage’s moans were almost ironically sweet and needy, and Fenris found the combination to be incredibly enticing. In that moment, he actually imagined what it would be like to reverse their positions and to take Hawke in this way. He wondered whether or not the mage would be interested in it. Fenris thought that, perhaps indeed, there were still new things he might want to explore someday. But he was distracted from his thoughts when Hawke’s fingers dug into hips and his hot breath stirred the hair at the nape of the elf’s neck. He kept his rough pace up for several minutes before Fenris detected the tell-tale falter in his rhythm that signaled the beginning of the end.

Fenris, thankfully, had gotten somewhat used to Hawke’s stamina and his ability to hold off his orgasm until such a time as he was ready for it. But when the pleasure finally did over-take him, it was an amazing sight to behold. Hawke wasn’t even the type of person to necessarily use vulgarities all that often, but there were certain times when it was inevitable. Now was such a time.

“Fuck!” The mage snarled as he reached climax. Fenris felt his lover’s back arch as he spilled uncontrollably into his body. But this time he was waiting for him and Fenris began to consciously clench his muscles, increasing the effect of the spasmodic waves that he had no control over.

“Oh, Sweet Maker.” Hawke panted, his face flushed and his skin sparkling with perspiration; bucking his hips wildly against the captive elf. “Fuck…Fenris…God, you’re so… …so…. tight! Fuck…. yes…Gods…. yes.”

Fenris pushed backwards roughly, taking his lover’s length deep inside of him. He then purposely clenched up as tight as he could and was rewarded by Hawke’s sharp, ragged, cry of release as he finally spent himself completely. Of the two of them, Hawke was always by far the most vocal but Fenris had his own ways of letting the mage know just how much he enjoyed their pairings, and with a few additional flutters and twists, he told Hawke everything he needed to know. As he collapsed, Hawke’s arms went around his torso and squeezed until Fenris could hardly breathe but they remained there, like that, until the both of them could regain a foothold back into reality.

After a few minutes and few extra pops and sparks from the dying fireplace, Hawke carefully pushed himself up and off of his lover, who remained breathing deeply and calmingly, with his eyes closed, on the carpet. With tentative fingers, he reached out and stroked down Fenris’ spine before gently rolling him over onto his back and undoing the leather ties to free his hands.

“Fen?” There was still a timbre of worry in his voice.

“Hmm?”

“You ok?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What are thinking about?”

There was a quiet moment before Hawke observed a mischievous smile creep across Fenris’ otherwise passive face. When he spoke, it was composed but filled with suggestive promise.

“Returning the favor.”


	18. Home is Where the Hart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Here it is! The final chapter and the epilogue of "Stranger Places." Thank you all for reading and commenting. Seriously, it keeps me motivated and helps me develop my ideas as I go. Now, on to the next thing! Not sure what that is right now, exactly. But I can guarantee to all of you, that this is not the last time we'll be seeing Hawke, Fenris, Solas, and Mariner. - Nas)

**Chapter 18 – Home is Where the Hart Is**

The headache he’d woken up with was staggering, and Mariner was very quickly regretting his decision to sit up. With a wry smile, Senaht had already noticed his pained groaning before the others and had wandered over to hand him a hot mug of something vaguely brownish and smelling like wood shavings.

“What….is that?” It came out more muddled than he meant it to, but the sharp, stabbing, pains were making the room unsteady.

“Arrowroot tea. It’ll help with the hangover.”

“Hangover? Hang…. what? Ugh….ow.”

The blonde elf patted Mariner amiably on the arm as he took a sip, grimaced, and then did it again. It tasted like wood shavings too but was already making his tongue a little numb. 

“The headache, the dry mouth, it’s all side-effects of the Serenic Sleep.” Senaht replied. “Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in a few hours.”

“Mariner!”

The subject of Aurvandil’s sudden outburst winced but smiled when he saw the youngest of the _ashvani_ flounce down onto the pallet next to him, nearly hugging the tea right out of his hand. 

“Dil?” He craned his neck to take in the sight of Aurvandil’s carefully wrapped throat. “Gods, are you alright?! Wha…What are you doing here?”

“Hmmm? Oh! Yes, I’ll be fine. They rescued us, Mari! Hawke and Fenris, and you too! I told Lyric you would come, I did!”

And then Mariner saw the others: Lyric and Varric arguing over a chest of tinctures and medicines, Alcuin attempting to make soup in the fireplace, and Senaht sitting uncomfortably close on his right side as Aurvandil squeezed his midsection with all the might of an over-caffeinated teenager. At first, he thought he might still be dreaming, but it was all a little too…ordinary… to be something conjured up in his unconscious mind. Varric, Senaht, and his Elusivir family all together in a room he was pretty sure he’d never seen before.

“What’s going on?” He asked, more to the gathering than to anyone specifically.

Senaht answered. “You’re fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. Hawke got to you and Fenris before anything happened. Well, not before Ravenica knocked you out with the draught but before the carnal part. It was quite a fight to escape the estate, I hear, but everyone’s alive. More or less.”

“Hawke? Where is he?”

“Upstairs with Fenris. They’re…. uh…resting.”

“And…why are you here?”

Senaht sighed and rolled his eyes. “Operative question of the day, it seems. Look, you and your companions are safe. For now, anyway. That’s the important part. Granted, Ravenica sailed for the Imperium pretty much immediately after we crashed his party but the good news is that you should be able to get reasonably safe passage back to the Kirinae from port-side. A day or so to recuperate and you’ll be back on your feet as if none of this happened.”

Mariner scowled. But so much had happened. So much had changed. And yet, he couldn’t tell them what he knew. Not now. It wasn’t time.

“They fought their way through the entire guard, Mari!” Aurvandil continued to ignore Lyric’s withering looks as he came up to Mariner’s bedside to offer him a philter of analgesics. “It was incredible! Swords and magic and everything!”

Lyric sighed. “It’s been quite the experience for us all, Dil. But Mariner needs to rest. Enough with this frivolity.”

Aurvandil merely stuck out his tongue but did manage to settle for the time being.

“Are you all…alright?” Mariner questioned hesitantly; his tone indicating some of the more unsavory acts he feared they’d endured.

Lyric nodded; his face pinched but calm. “We’re fine. Ravenica insisted on quite a number of…inspections. But he didn’t force us to pair. Bless the Creators, for that. Once he had you, he didn’t focus on any of us overmuch. It was Mariner this and Fenris that, all the way up to the party. He meant to keep you both. Sell us when he could, I think. But you were going to be his…advertisements.”

Mariner sipped the arrowroot again. “I know. But honestly, that’s how I got through it. Whenever he paraded us around, I reminded myself that as long as he was doing it to us, he wasn’t doing it to any of you. Bought us enough time, if nothing else.”

Mariner smiled at the gentle touch at his cheek as Lyric bowed his head and returned to the box of medicines. The elder _ashvani_ had never been the loquacious sort but he knew how to express gratitude in smaller ways.

“Can we go home now, Mari?” Aurvandil whispered, now sensitive to the other’s pain. “Can we go back to Kirinae?”

“Yeah.” He laid his hand on the younger _ashvani’s_ shoulder. “It’s time, I think, that everyone went home.”

********  
Three days later, Varric, Senaht, Hawke, Fenris, and the four _ashvani_ of the Elusivir stood on the docks of Amaranthine. It had been days of arguments and disagreements, but the decisions were clear and there was no longer any sense in fighting about it.

Varric and Senaht would remain in the city, despite multiple invitations from Lyric for them to join the party returning to the north. Varric had made his excuses in that he still had so much work to do negotiating the contracts for the Merchant’s Guild and Senaht had made it abundantly clear that he was no nomad and was far too accustomed to the comforts of tavern life to make sail into the northern wildernesses.

As for Hawke and Fenris, they’d be accompanying Lyric, Alcuin, and Aurvandil until they reached the Kirinae villages; delivering them safely to the caravans and ensuring that they wouldn’t be waylaid again. But that left Mariner, who, to the confusion of all, was now intent on setting off alone.

“Mariner, seriously.” Hawke was saying. “It’s less than a week at sea, and then you’ll be home. Your people are waiting for you.”

“My people have Lyric, Alcuin, and Dil, Hawke. They’ll be fine. I’ve already told you, I have to leave. There are a few things I have to do.”

“And you’re still not going to tell me what.”

“I honestly don’t think I could.” He replied. “Not in any way that makes sense. Just think of it as an Oracle thing.”

After checking their passage papers, Fenris joined the group at the walkways. “I’m sorry you won’t be with us. But I understand the feeling.”

“Well, I don’t.” Hawke huffed, crossing his arms but regarding them all genially. “But if you’re intent on doing this, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.” Mariner chuckled. “What is it?”

“Take Bodkin with you? I’d hate to leave him cooped up in the city stables forever. He seems like the kind of horse that needs…. activity. Anyway, he likes you way more than me.”

That actually made the _ashvani_ laugh. “Ok. I’ll pick him up on my way out. Horses were never really my forte but it will be nice to have a…companion on this journey. So to speak.”

“To where?” Fenris sidled. “Any thoughts on where you’ll go next?”

“Yes, but it’s…hard to explain.” Mariner fidgeted, wringing his hands anxiously. He hated leaving, he really did. He couldn’t tell them how much. But there were things that needed to be done. “The Fade will show me, if I follow the signs correctly.” He laughed again. “I guess I’m not as terrible an Oracle as I thought I was. I just wasn’t…coming at it from the right perspective.”

“Something you saw while you were unconscious?” Hawke tried again.

“Something like that.”

Fenris gently touched Hawke’s arm, made eye contact with him, and then turned to Mariner. “Come with me a moment, will you?”

The two elves stepped away as Hawke shrugged and returned to the fifth iteration of Senaht and Lyric’s argument as to whether or not the blond elf should abandon his life as a Professional Companion and return to “traditional” Elvhendom. 

“Listen.” Senaht was saying as Hawke watched Fenris take Mariner’s elbow and wander to the end of the dock. “I appreciate it. Really. And, you know, maybe in another life…you and I…”

Lyric coughed and blushed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Senaht teased. “But, you have to admit, it’s tempting. You. Me. A fine vintage. You might even like it here.”

“Well, you…I…I mean…. no.”

At the edge of the wharf, Fenris turned Mariner to face him. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright? Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Yes.” The _ashvani_ answered. “This is what I have to do. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense; I know it seems like I should…”

“No.” Fenris interrupted him with a raised palm. “You don’t need to justify yourself to me. I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing.”

“Fen? Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I wanted to…thank you. For everything. For everything you and Hawke have done for me. You freed me from slavers. Twice. Bandits. Getting lost in the woods. Ravenica. And whatever other messes I would have managed to get myself into without you. I owe you a lot. And…I don’t know how else to say this but…I have this intense feeling that this will not be the last time I see you. So, I want you to know that, when we meet again, I’ll repay all you’ve done. I promise.”

Fenris actually smiled then. “I know. And who can say, maybe it will all be under better circumstances.”

“After Kirinae, where will you and Hawke go?”

“Liam wants to return to Kirkwall. He has family there and an estate. And…if I’m being completely honest…I think he wants to start building a life again.”

“You mean…with you?”

Fenris lightly socked Mariner’s arm but didn’t suppress the mirth that tugged at his features. “I think so. I don’t…really know what that means but…I think I’m willing to try now.”  
“I think you’re going to do great, Fen. He loves you. Like, a lot.”

They both surreptitiously glanced back to see Liam Hawke trying very obviously not to keep an eye on the two of them as he continued to mediate between Senaht, Lyric, and Varric.

“He does. And I… I love him. More than I ever thought was possible.”

“Stay with him, Fen. Stay as close to him as you can. I think…I think something is coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know I’m still not the world’s best Oracle or anything, but it’s like the calm before a storm. Something is coming. Something big. It’s going to change…. everything.”

Fenris nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. “Then, I will see you when it comes. Won’t I?”

“Yes, I think you almost certainly will. Oh! But before I forget. Here, this is yours.”

Fenris was unsurprised to see Mariner holding out the dagger, drawn from the inside pocket of his coat.

“Oh no.” The elder elf shook his head and pushed the offered blade back towards the _ashvani_. “It’s yours. You keep it. I’d feel better anyway, knowing that you have some measure of protection. Even if you are terrible at using it.”

Mariner nodded, slowly rolling the pommel in his hand. “Thank you again. I never got a chance to use it but I suppose I’ll also feel a bit better; just knowing it’s there. And it will remind me of you.”

A commotion from down the dock drew their attention back to the assembled company near the bow of the ship called Caraquet. From what Fenris could tell, Senaht had actually kissed Lyric, much to the amusement and mockery of both Alcuin and Aurvandil. Varric, conversely, was still trying to get the lot of them onto the ship and Hawke, at this point, had decidedly stepped back just to watch the fun.

“Also.” Mariner added. “Just in case it wasn’t…clear. I’m glad that you didn’t have to…you know.”

“No.” Fenris shook his head. “I would have been gentle with you but it wouldn’t have mattered in the end. Ravenica would have taken everything from you. In ways I can’t describe.”

“And he’s off, isn’t he?” Mariner grumbled, looking out over the slow lap of the ocean. “Safely back to the Imperium.”

“Yes. But without his prizes.”

“I just hope it’s enough.”

“It will be.” Fenris gently touched his shoulder again. “Come on. It’s time we were off. No sense in standing around here any longer than we have to. Hawke and I will get the others home. You just…take care of yourself.”

“I will. In fact, strange as this is going to sound…that’s the whole point.” He chuckled. “It’s time I… found myself.”

********

**EPILOGUE:**

The view from the balcony of the Bella Serata Estate was lovely at twilight. As one of Minrathous’ oldest mansions, Bella Serata sported acres of courtyards, orchards, and high marble walls surrounding an equally impressive central house and gardens. It had been built from blocks of travertino mined from the coast, and glowed almost golden in the waning light. 

With an angry sigh, Gallio Ravenica paced the hall outside the largest balcony overlooking the apples finally ripening at the end of the season of warm days. He scowled as he watched a contingent of his elven slaves moving through the rows with picking baskets, selecting the reddest fruit for the evening table. He watched their slim, angular, bodies as they worked; already imagining a few of them stripped of their clothes. Naked, and submissive in his bed.

He sighed. Still aggravated. He cursed himself for not having anticipated Fenris having friends and outside contacts that would be willing to stage a rescue, even against a respected magister. Or connections with forgers who could come up with documents as truly spectacular as the ones Varric had clearly arranged. And, of course, they’d taken the beautiful young _ashvani_ Mariner with them when they’d escaped. If he’d had the foresight, he realized he should have separated the two elves immediately and kept Mariner apart from all the rest. But he’d been so caught up in his profound good fortune that he’d been, in a word, too extravagant, in allowing them to be observed. And now, he’d lost all four _ashvani_; who were, most likely, on their way back to the Kirinae and out of reach once again.

But he had a plan. Over the past few days, Magister Ravenica had been leveraging every last bit of capital he had, money or social, to gather together a force large enough and skilled enough to raid the caravans all across the northern reaches. With it, he had no doubt he’d have the elves back in his household before the first snows. Now, it was just a question of strategy and scrying on the most likely routes the Elusivir were bound to take at this time of year.

With a sure step, he set off for his lavish offices. It was time to consult his maps again and to comfort his amorous urges with fantasies of recapture and subjugation. Mariner, in particular, was a subject he often imaged in chains, preferably to his bedpost; where he could use and delight in his slave every night of his choosing. He paused at the large, mahogany, door and chuffed lowly. He hated waiting.

When he swung-wide the door, however, Gallio Ravenica was dealt a shocking blow. Standing behind his desk, carefully sifting through a pile of parchments with his thumb and forefingers was an elf. An elf, Ravenica was certain, he had never seen the likes of before.

“What?!” He snapped. “What is the meaning of this!? Slave! What are you doing in here?”

The elf did not acknowledge him. Rather, he continued to flip through the pages of maps, contracts, and trade routes; all of which clearly detailed his plans in line after line of orders and payments. 

“Elf!” Ravenica snarled, stomping loudly across the marble tiles. “I said, what are you doing?!”

Solas finally deigned to look up, regarding the magister now in his midst with a mixture of contempt and irritation. “Where is he?” Came the flat, even, question.

“What? Where is who?” The master of the house was already contemplating his first volley of spells against the insolent, invading, creature.

“Mariner. Where are you keeping him?”

Ravenica smiled with snobbish derision. “Mariner. The young _ashvani_. Funny that you should be looking for him, since that would make two of us.”

Solas glanced back down at the papers in his hand. “You intend to attack the caravans at Kirinae. You’ve mapped out the winter mountain route of the Elusivir clans. Why?”

“What interest is that of yours?”

“Answer the question.”

Ravenica was quickly losing patience with the unkempt slave. Dressed in little more than a simple, wool, tunic and belt, a felt overcoat and leggings, and, what was that exactly…a wolf’s jaw around his neck?

“I’m afraid my little _ashvani_ has decided to go on a bit of an adventure. I’m merely bringing him and his cohorts back to where they belong.”

“I see.”

“Now. Who are you? City elf, is it? Cast off from the alienage? Looking to repay your debts through service? I really am quite tired of getting you rabble at my doorstep and…”

“Shut up.”

“I…. I beg your pardon?!”

“Shut. Up.”

The glare with which the elf regarded him was beyond insulting. A pointed, indignant, stare that no elf in their right might would ever dare to meet the eyes of an Imperial magister with. But this elf clearly had no fear of him, no reverence, no deference or respect whatsoever. It instantly drove him to fury.

“I believe that I have had quite enough of this!” Ravenica drew himself up, puffing out his chest and beginning the first gestures of an offensive spell. But the elf did not even flinch, and with a wave of his hand, countered the words with a brief warp of the Veil. Then, he carefully laid down the papers and came around the edge of the desk.

“You like having elves at your mercy, don’t you?”

“How…how did you do that?”

“Easily.” Solas tilted his head with a predatory glare. “But that is hardly the issue at hand, isn’t it? You are seeking ashvani slaves, are you not? I surmise you desire them for the Serenic their bodies might yield to you under force?”

“Oh?” The magister smiled, believing he had finally ascertained the intent of this particular elf. “Are you looking to join the trade?” He looked Solas up and down. He was pleasing enough, even handsome one might say, if he were dressed better. “Looking to act as stud for their pairing? If you’re good enough at it, I dare say you could be well-rewarded in this life.”

The elf laughed darkly. “I imagine that’s true. What is more, I don’t think you can even fathom what would be created if I were to do what you are suggesting. But that is not why I am here.”

Gallio Ravenica growled and rolled his eyes. “What is it then? For the divine’s sake, what do you want already? You’ve invaded my home and my work, and I am losing patience with you.”

“What…do I want?” Solas breathed. “What a complicated question that is…”

The magister was about to call for his guard, to finally bring an end to this little _tete e tete_, and see this arrogant elf dragged off and flogged until he sobbed for forgiveness. But then, Solas gently, almost blandly, reached out his hand and brought the tips of his fingers to rest onto the pile of papers spread across the desk behind him. With a spark, they ignited and began to burn; faster than they should have, faster than any natural fire was capable of. The magister started, ready to jump back and call for the brigade to bring water immediately. But there was not a moment to spare. Before Ravenica could react, the terrifying feral beast was upon him.

He shouted, he screamed for help. Whatever this thing was, it was no elf. Too strong, too fast, too possessed of occult powers no elf could possibly claim. He flailed. He bit and scratched, trying to get purchase on the thing moving through the flames that now consumed the entire office…and then the balcony…and then into the hallway…and soon…the entire estate was a raging inferno beyond the help of any water; even an entire ocean which lay just outside its walls.

In the days to come, the servants and the slaves, all of whom inexplicably were able to escape the destruction, would speak of the screams that emanated from the flames. How they went on for over an hour as the wooden scaffolding crumbled and the stones fell in. How unholy they sounded. And afterwards, when the fire finally wore itself out and the skeleton of the house smoldered against the morning dawn, how the mangled body of the magister hung, twisting in the breeze, from the highest point of the ramparts. And from his mouth, a strip of hair; black as night.

From that day forward, it became a tradition for all Minrathous elves; free and enslaved, to stop and give a moment’s reverence to the image of a great wolf burned into the rock where the estate once stood. Ashen and sooty, it was nevertheless unaffected by wind, rain, or surf. And though a name was sometimes whispered in dark corners and back alleys, no one dared to ask why.

(**THE END** – Until we meet again…)


End file.
